


Apart

by deleterious



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9149140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleterious/pseuds/deleterious
Summary: Captured while she slept in the Castle of Lions, Allura awakens to discover that she is Zarkon's captive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I binged-watched Voltron because everyone was talking about it and I immediately came up with this AU. What can I say, I have a problem. Out of necessity, there will be OCs in this, though I hope they won't be too obtrusive.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated and welcome.

The first time the attendants had come to clean her up, Allura had screamed.

Not just screamed, but thrashed and fought, refusing to allow them to touch her or to guide her up from the bed. The next day, they had all been replaced, with meeker, even more frightened-looking slaves.

She had gotten the message, and each morning, she allowed them to lead her from Zarkon's bed to be groomed at the baths that adjoined his apartments. Allura suspected the original attendants were gone forever, since she had not seen them again and no one dared speak of them. The thought of it made her feel guilty and sick. Ugly and selfish, filthy inside and out. They had just been trying to do their jobs, after all.

Half-laying in the warm water, she practiced a breathing exercise and tried to calm herself while slaves cleaned the Emperor's black seed from her thighs, belly, and breasts. She concentrated on the water and patterns in the tiles as they washed sweat and oil out of her hair. Allura did not want to be touched by anyone, but she didn't dare complain. Meditation might have helped, but it was impossible to distance herself from reality. Even her quintessence felt poisoned, as though Zarkon's touch had tainted it somehow.

When they finished, they guided her up out of the water and towelled her off, wrapping a clean robe around her. She sat in one of the chairs in Zarkon's apartments, using one hand to clutch the other to keep them from shaking. Water dripped in rivulets from her hair onto the black stone floor, and they started drying it and brushing it out.

"No baby yet?" one of the slaves asked, and then nodded to herself, as though confirming. "Good. He gives his mates babies sometimes, but the witch knows. She always knows, and she takes them. The girl and the baby. Never see them again."

The thought was repulsive, and it crawled through Allura like bugs on her skin. Galra and Alteans were not alike enough to breed, and with her auras in the state they were in she doubted any new life could take root inside her body no matter what the case was, but the mere suggestion made her want to gag. She glanced over at the slave, who was of a race she couldn't identify. The woman was shorter than Allura was, bent by age, with broad shoulders and heavy, callused hands. Her fanged lower jaw protruded, and a crest of hardened bone grew from her scalp in place of hair. Despite the slave's feirce appearance, her touch was gentle, and her eyes kind.

"I--" Allura began, and stopped when she realized how hoarse and shaky her voice sounded. She had barely spoken in weeks, and she recalled that she was a diplomat, a negotiator, the Queen and Defender of Altea. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and let it out.

"It _is_ good," Allura said, at last. She reached out, to rest one hand over the other woman's. "Thank you, for your concern. My name is Allura, may I know yours?"

"The Galra call me Ama'i," said the slave, beaming up at her. "These others, Belyo, Solu."

Allura greeted them each in turn and touched her hand to her heart. They were, all three, of different races - conquests of the Galra Empire. Belyo was tiny, and had Allura been standing, the woman would have hardly reached her waist. Her yellow-gold skin looked paper-thin and fragile, with veins and organs visible underneath. Allura could sense her quintessence, and Belyo didn't seem ill, so it must be something natural to her species. Solu was the tallest, but somehow seemed the meekest of the three, she never spoke, and kept all six of her eyes downcast at all times.

They were slaves. Just like she was, and she felt guilty for allowing them to care for her without so much as gratitude or acknowledgment for weeks.

"Do you have a mate already?" Ama'i asked, taking one of Allura's hands and inspecting the princess' cracked nails with a frown.

"I... no. There was no one before Zarkon." It wasn't a lie, and in an effort not to dwell on _that_ sobering thought, she turned to Ama'i. "Do you have a family? Are they here?"

The slave nodded, and with a surprising amount of delicacy, plucked up a tool from one of the tables and began filing down the worst of Allura's jagged nails. "Two daughters, from my mate. One son. A Galra put him inside me. They take him, for their army." Ama'i lifted Allura's hand and blew on her nails, inspecting them critically. "I take care of the Emperor's prize, my daughters come up from the mines. A better chance for them. If they live, there is hope."

Allura felt like something was squeezing her heart. Was this what the universe was like now? Was this all there was?

Zarkon had the Black Lion, taken from her castle when his commanders had discovered it, and whatever resistance the universe might have mustered against him was meaningless now. Soon, no worlds would remain free. Virtually the only thing that kept Allura from taking her own life was the fact that so long as she lived, her quintessence obscured the location of the three lions Zarkon did not already possess. If she died, the Emperor's witch would surely uncover them. Perhaps destiny would guide their pilots to them and they would mount a resistance, or perhaps she was hoping in vain.

...but not only that, it was that Allura felt she owed her people better. To face them in the afterlife because she couldn't endure would be more shameful than anything Zarkon had done to her, and the gods looked upon those who returned to them by their own hand with great reproach. Allura sighed.

The Galra had destroyed her people and what had she done about it beyond sulk in Zarkon's rooms? Perhaps that was what Ama'i was trying to tell her, she realized, if not in those precise words. If the tyrant wanted to keep her close, let him. She would carry this, she vowed it now, and learn anything she could. Zarkon must have a weakness, even if his power seemed unassailable.

Surely, somewhere, there were still free worlds. Allura considered it as she rose and allowed the three attendants to dress her. The garments were not what she would have preferred, they were the wrong color and they clung far to tightly to her body, but she doubted Zarkon cared what she preferred.

Somewhere, three of the Lions were still hidden, their pilots and their power unrealized. Somewhere there was a place from which a resistance could be hidden and sheltered, and she owed it to her people to find it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to smooth down her quintessence and the jagged energies arcing through her auras. She wanted to be composed, for the day that was coming.

"Ama'i, Belyo, Solu," said Allura, nodding to each of the attendants in turn. Zarkon, she decided, would not erase her manners the way he had erased everything else about her. "You have all been very good to me, I should not have let you care for me without thanking you. Please, let me do it now. Thank you all for your kindness."

Reaching out, Allura made a gesture of blessing, and Ama'i returned her own, though different. Her people's gods were not the Altean ones. Belyo did the same, the gesture equally alien to Allura, but when the princess turned to Solu, Ama'i shook her head.

"Solu's people," Ama'i said, "no gods."

"Of course," said Allura, and instead bowed her head in respect. Solu didn't speak, but she somehow ducked her shoulders even lower, in acknowledgment. "I will see you all tomorrow."

Right now, she had to go to Zarkon.

*** *** ***

A pair of Galra soldiers fell into step behind her as she walked, and Allura took note of them but paid them no mind. She belonged to Zarkon, and none of his servants would dare lay a hand or a weapon on their God-Emperor's prize.

In fact, she took note of every Galra they passed. The Galra were a warlike race, she knew that, from her own time. Warriors were their nobility and their sworn duty was the protection and defense of their people. Those who could not fight supported and cared for those who could. How easily Zarkon had corrupted their - or rather, his own - society.

With the fog of her despair at least somewhat lifted, Allura searched the faces of every Galra soldier who didn't have their battlemask closed. The officers and those soldiers in the most important positions were all pureblooded, but the number of Galra whose blood was mixed was disquieting. She saw Galra with spines, Galra with blue eyes, Galra with patterned fur, antenna, an even numbers of digits, Galra with all manner of alien features.

Gods! Was this the fate of any woman unfortunate enough to be able to carry a Galra's child?

She cursed Zarkon for allowing it to happen, for putting men like this in power, and not for the first time, she wondered what had come over him. He had been a hero once, the champion of his people, the Black Paladin. Her father's confidant and closest friend. Now, he was just a monster.

To blame the witch, Haggar, would have been easy, but Allura sensed it was not Haggar who had tainted Zarkon. Rather, he had already been corrupt, and she had come to him as flies came to a corpse. From _where_ she had come, Allura didn't know, and the only possible answer was 'nowhere good'.

Haggar was not there when Allura stepped into the war room where the Emperor was listening to reports, and she let out a long sigh of relief. As the descendant of an unbroken line of Altean nobility, Allura was one of the most most powerful quintessence channelers who lived. Zarkon's ability to shape his powers for use in battle was impressive, and his command of the Black Lion was flawless, but even he was not her rival.

Haggar though, Haggar made her feel like a child. The dark power that surrounded the witch terrified Allura. She felt it would not have been an exaggeration to say that Zarkon's sorceress was poisoning the universe simply by existing in it.

More than the threat of Zarkon himself, Allura feared that the Emperor might give her to the witch when he grew bored of her. Haggar had asked, she knew that, and Ama'i's talk of the witch spiriting away the Emperor's heirs was disquieting. She tried not to think about it as she crossed the room to the tyrant who owned her, took his hand, and knelt at his feet.

"My princess," the Emperor said, his tone pleased and just a little surprised. She had not come to attend to him during the day before, and Zarkon gestured to the seat next to his, indicating that she should rise and sit. "Did you rest well?"

"I did," Allura lied, releasing his hand and moving to sit next to him. "I feel... refreshed. I wanted to thank you, for being gracious enough to send me attendants."

Zarkon's response was to turn back to his reports, but his hand came to rest on her thigh, and he stroked over it with his thumb, the touch mocking gentleness.

*** *** ***

Zarkon kept her with him for the whole day, and by the time she followed him back to his apartments, she felt weary. If nothing else, ruling the universe was a busy job, and Zarkon handled a surprising amount of the minutiae himself. The Emperor wanted to show off the fact that every thread of power ultimately traced back to him, and Allura was almost impressed.

...but no man could rule forever, and Allura could already see the places where Zarkon's reach was beginning to exceed his grasp.

There were places where smaller Empires limited his ability to conquer, and worlds strong or valuable enough they were allowed to exist as tributaries. Planets so far-flung that Zarkon had trouble enforcing his rule there. Galra generals and commanders who had used distance and neglect from the Capital System to set up their own fiefdoms. A witch whose power was terrifying and whose loyalty was questionable. Zarkon had not intended for her to see the cracks, but Allura was a child of royal courts, one who had been groomed her entire life to be a diplomat and negotiator, and now that she had chosen to use them, her senses for politics were still razor-sharp.

It would have helped if she had an army, or the Paladins, the Castle of Lions, or even an ally to pass the information to, but perhaps someday she would.

It was the only thing she had to look forward to.

"Undress," Zarkon ordered as he walked to the bed, shrugging off his cloak and letting it pool on the floor at his feet. He felt secure in this place, she noted, because he didn't wear his armor. It mattered little to Allura, she was no match for the Black Paladin, even if she were armed and he wasn't. There was a ring of silver bands strapped to Zarkon's left forearm that he hadn't removed, and she suspected it held the Black Bayard.

Perhaps she could have fought, but it would change nothing. Zarkon would take what he wanted in the end, and if she at least complied, it would be far less painful and humiliating. She followed him, untying the sash of her own dress and letting it slide from her shoulders so that she stood naked in the Emperor's chambers. The air of the command station felt cool on her exposed body, and desperately she wished she could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. It was only a slight discomfort compared to the feeling of Zarkon's eyes on her, and from where he was reclining on the bed, he beckoned her to him with one finger.

As she walked to the bed and climbed on, Allura laid the lightest touch against her own quintessence. Balance was crucial here, too much and he would notice, to little and he would hurt her. Allura had no desire to stroke the Emperor's ego, but as a race, the Galra were quite large and Zarkon was no exception. Provoking a physical reaction was a simple trick, and even those Alteans least suited to magic could usually master it well enough to soothe a crying child to sleep, to help close a wound, or in this case - to fake arousal.

Zarkon's hands were heavy, he was no stranger to the battlefield, and they were scarred and callused from millennia of war. 'Hard' was how Allura would have described the palms that slid over her thighs, and she made a noise of protest as two of his fingers plunged into her sex and stroked her.

"Look at you," he purred, "already wet for me."

Allura gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut as his claws scraped against delicate inner walls. In truth, she was far from aroused, but she ground her hips into his touch, moving with him for fear of being scratched or cut.

He leaned over her, closing his mouth over the dark flesh of her nipple and sucking at it firmly, tugging at the sensitive nub with sharpened teeth. Allura forced herself not to pull away, tangling one hand into bedsheets and using the other to grip at Zarkon's shoulder. Her fingers dug into his flesh, the nails too blunt to draw blood. She felt his cock against her thigh, already hard and eager.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Allura tilted her head back and tried to even her breathing as Zarkon indulged himself in her body. His fingers worked steadily between her legs, and she loathed the way it was making her hot and slick in ways that had nothing to do with a magic trick. His mouth roamed over her throat, scraping at the exposed flesh with his fangs. As she tensed, he went back to her breasts, nuzzling the hollow between them, moving back to suckle at her nipple.

...and then, without warning, he bit her.

Zarkon's fangs sunk easily into the soft flesh of her breast. Allura had vowed not to fight him, but she felt blood well up around her nipple, and a knife of pain that reached her auras. She tore at the sheets and out of reflex, squeezed her legs closed. It didn't matter, Zarkon was kneeling over her now, and he gripped her by the thighs, forcing her legs apart so widely it was painful. She was pinned beneath him, helpless and exposed.

He chuckled. "That got your attention, didn't it Princess?"

Allura didn't answer him, her auras were flickering and her breathing was ragged and she fought to get them both under control.

"Open your eyes," Zarkon ordered. "Look up at me."

With a great deal of trepidation, she did.

The Emperor of the Galra was, by the standards of his race, a handsome man. Even the scars that mapped his flesh were proof of his prowess and strength. Allura could see new scars, over the old ones he earned when he had fought for freedom at her father's side, and older scars still, from before. From a time before time, when the Galra had--

 _No_. She cast that thought from her mind. Whatever sympathy she might once have had for her captor had long since disintegrated.

Gods! Despite appearances, they were both so _old_ , weren't they? Frighteningly so. Relics from an Age long past. Allura could feel the weight of it.

Zarkon's shoulders were broad, and his frame taut with powerful muscles. Alteans were strong for a race of their size, but the grip Zarkon used to hold her legs apart felt like iron. His cock was unsheathed and fully erect, rising proudly above his hips. The organ was purple-black and thick, and though she couldn't see them from this angle, Allura knew there were ridges along the top of it. Black pre-cum dripped from the tip, trickling down the underside to the swell of his knot. The sight of it made her struggle against his hands, trying to close her legs in protest, but it was to no avail.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked.

 _No one_ , thought Allura, but she said, "You."

"There was a time I feared you were lost to me." He leaned down over her, his cock rubbing over her stomach, leaving streaks of black on her dusky flesh. "That I would be alone in this Age. I burned worlds and killed stars, searching for you."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? All Allura felt was pain and disgust, and she resisted the urge to slap Zarkon, to slash at him with her nails. She had tried that once and broken them, and she was already humiliated at the thought of the attendants seeing her swollen, bloody breast in the morning.

...but Allura thought of Haggar, whispering into his ear, and decided that if only Zarkon kept her close, perhaps she could unseat his witch.

To fight or despair until she was discarded would gain her nothing, so if this was what she must endure, she would.

Her hands shook as she reached up to stroke over Zarkon's chest, feeling the coils of tight muscle and beats of a primary and secondary heart, but he either didn't notice or he paid it no mind.

"I am here, Zarkon," she said, keeping her voice steady as she lied. "I am yours. Forgive my earlier behavior, I was... grieving."

He kissed her, crushingly, drinking in her cry of pain as he angled his hips and filled her in a single thrust, threatening her with the knot. His quintessence, poisonous and dark, knifed into her auras, tattering them and blotting them out. There was no escape there, the whole room seemed to fall away, and she could sense nothing but him. Lust, possession, and greed pulsed across her senses, the magic in the air thick with them.

Zarkon's hands left her thighs and gripped her by the wrists, wielding her arms above her head and pinning them there. Previously, Allura would have done nothing more than lay still until he had finished with her, but now she wound her legs through his and raised her hips to meet his thrusts. She had not been lying when she had told Ama'i she had had no previous lovers, and Allura knew very little about how to please a partner, but Zarkon made a guttural noise of encouragement as she moved with him.

When he pressed the top half of his knot inside, Allura couldn't help but to whimper, and Zarkon nipped at her bottom lip. The tyrant was purring steadily above her, and he ground his hips down, the pressure of the knot nearly unbearable. He leaned in, nuzzling at her ear.

"You _are_ mine," he whispered. "...and I'm going to claim you."

She felt Zarkon's muscles tense as he pressed forward, her body at last enveloping his knot. Allura couldn't help but cry out, and she felt full to bursting, as though Zarkon was touching her everywhere. The ridges on his cock scraped against her insides, and one at the very base ground into her clit, the touch of it her making her cry out again. Her whole body shook, and she dug her heels into the padding on the bed.

When he came a second later, Allura sensed the triumph in his auras as his black seed pumped into her. The knot held it all inside, forcing it deeper into her body, defiling her womb. Silently, she thanked the gods that it couldn't take root there. Not wanting Zarkon to see her closing her eyes or notice her pained expression, she pressed her face into his shoulder.

It seemed to take forever for it to end, and even when the pulses had stopped, the knot did not subside. He remained inside her, still iron-hard as he turned them so they lay on their sides. One of his hands came to rest on the small of her back, and he stroked it with what Allura supposed was meant to be tenderness.

...and that was how they stayed, for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Ama'i lifted her skirts and tied them around her waist as she waded into the pool-bath with Allura, frowning. The attendant had quite nearly been in fits when she had seen the the blood crusted around the purple-blue bruises on Allura's breast, and she had spent the better part of an hour fussing. It made Allura feel like a child, and she willed herself not to fall into the trap of that sort of thinking. Ama'i had no power to protect her. Belyo knelt near the edge of the pool, looking equally concerned, and Solu had not come this morning. Allura worried for her, but the other two attendants had assured the captive princess that Solu was fine, and she was merely busy with other duties.

"No good," Ama'i said, and barked off a word at Belyo that Allura didn't understand. The smaller woman immediately scampered off to fetch something, her footfalls pattering on the stone floor.

It was possible to use quintessence to understand those whose language she didn't speak, and Alteans had refined the ability throughout centuries of study, but still, the translations were never perfect. There was a certain essence and essentiality that was always lost. Ama'i spoke the Galra language, if imperfectly and peppered liberally with her own tongue's colloquialisms, and that was what she used to speak to Allura, Belyo, and Solu.

"Don't like this," said Ama'i as she began to wash Allura off. The old woman had hard, ugly hands but her touch was surprisingly gentle. "At all."

"Neither do I," Allura admitted, beginning a breathing exercise and smoothing out her auras where Zarkon's quintessence had knifed through them. She focused them towards to healing, her breast was not the only part of her that ached.

Belyo reappeared and hurried to the edge of the bath, carrying a small box which she opened and held out to Ama'i. Inside was a loose collection of vials and pouches, and Ama'i snatched one up. She pulled the stopper with her teeth and poured the oily contents onto her fingers, dabbing them into the cuts on Allura's breast. There was the brief heat of a sting, and then the ache vanished.

"Are you a healer?" Allura asked, curious.

Ama'i spat the stopper back into the box without anything resembling delicacy, and Allura couldn't help but to imagine an Altean physician having a breakdown at the sight of it. She didn't concern herself much, she had bigger problems than what would have met Altea's strict sanitation procedures.

"Yes," said Ama'i. "Among my people. A healer, a carver of bones."

Allura blinked. "A bone carver?"

Ama'i tapped the crest on her forehead with one finger, drawing Allura's eyes there. At first, Allura had assumed the patterning there was natural, but now she looked closer and saw that it was elaborate carvings. The oldest ones were faded and barely visible, and the newest ones were darker, as though they had once been filled in with pigments. There was no space left for new carvings, and Allura assumed that was significant.

In spite of herself, she smiled. "Ama'i, these are beautiful. May I ask their meanings?"

"Yes," Ama'i said, tossing the vial back into the box and retrieving a roll of thin cloth. She tapped one with her free hand. "First daughter." Another. "Killed a _palaag_." Another. "My mate." She touched Allura's shoulder. "Lean back."

"I have so many questions," Allura said as she complied, the stone under her shoulderblades warm from the water of the bath. Ama'i moved to her side and began carefully wrapping her breast, still frowning. "My people, the Alteans, once traveled the galaxy as diplomats. We had contact with many other races, and I would like to know about your people, if you would permit it."

The bone crest on Ama'i's forehead seemed to shift slightly, and Allura got the impression that the woman was looking at her askance. "Alteans were like Galra?"

"No," said Allura. "We were not like the Galra. Alteans believed that unity gave us strength."

The thought made her nostalgic for old times. For sailing through the void in the Castle of Lions with her father and the other Paladins. For the next system of planets, lying undiscovered and uncharted just beyond the next star. For the company of friends and family. For the touch of auras that hadn't been poisoned by greed and hatred. For the feel of grass beneath her bare feet.

She wondered what had become of Coran, who had been with them at the end, when her father had sealed the Castle of Lions. Coran's family had served hers for nearly all of Altean history, and surely there had never been a retainer more faithful or loyal. He was not here, and so he must have been killed defending her father and the Castle. Allura was not sure whether she should mourn or celebrate. That Coran was a man would not have deterred most Galra, and certainly not Zarkon himself. She sighed. At least he had been spared this.

"Come," said Ama'i. "Up, out of the water. Ask your questions."

Allura rose and allowed the two women to dry her and guide her down onto a chair. "I suppose my first question is, what do you your people call themselves?"

" _Omokk_." Ama'i nudged a stool into place with one foot and Belyo climbed onto it so she could begin brushing out Allura's hair. Ama'i was taller, and she began on the other side. "The People."

That was hardly a surprise. 'Altean' and 'Galra' both meant essentially the same thing, and Allura considered. "What about your name? Do Omokk names have meanings?"

Ama'i laughed. " _Ama'i_ is 'healer', but not my name."

Allura blinked, but that was not entirely a surprise either. There were many races who believed that names held power, or in some cases, magic. Some races went entirely by nicknames, with their real names known only to their parents, or perhaps to religious leaders. The Geris had once had a special class of priests called Name-Keepers for this exact reason, and the Nakanari changed both name and form as they progressed through their five millennia life-cycle. Allura tried not to dwell on what must have become of them, both of their systems had been perilously close to Galra territory.

...but Ama'i had dismissed it immediately as not being her name.

"Forgive me if I've been rude," Allura said. "Or if I continue to be, but is there something else I should call you?"

"When the Galra take me, they hear my people calling out. Shouting 'Ama'i! Ama'i! Give back Ama'i'" The woman loosed a snarl in Allura's hair and smoothed it with a comb. "Thought it was my name. Never cared to learn more."

Allura remained silent while the woman spoke, and even Belyo was watching curiously now. She wondered if the Galra soldier who had raped Ama'i had even bothered to learn her real name, but she supposed not.

" _Tsotago_ ," she said, gesturing to herself, and Belyo looked delighted. "'Born-Feet-First'."

"You must teach me to pronounce it properly," Allura said, smiling. "I wish to learn everything you will share with me."

They spoke into the afternoon, and Ama'i became Tsotago.

*** *** ***

Zarkon allowed a number of systems to remain free, under the pretense of being 'tributaries'.

There were reasons for it, and Allura noted them all.

Some systems held resources or technology so valuable and rare that the Galra couldn't risk losing to them the ravages of war. Others lacked the Galra's ability to conquer, but were so well entrenched that toppling them would be more trouble than it was worth. Some planets were treacherous or unreachable due to galactic phenomenon. Some had environments or weather patterns beyond even the impressive limit of Galra tolerances.

Nothing lay beyond the power of the Black Lion, but Zarkon was one man. It was more beneficial to accept tribute and allow the leaders of these words to 'join' the Galra than it was for him to spend every waking hour toppling individual upstarts.

They had arrived in a great procession today, bearing gifts.

Zarkon had never been a vain creature, and ten millennia had not changed that. The tribute offered was almost painfully practical, bars of metal for weapons, plans for starships, even units of soldiers who had been pledged to serve him for a set amount of time. The Emperor stood among a knot of leaders, kings and queens and chiefs and caliphs.

As she approached, Allura could already tell which leaders were new at dealing with the Galra and which were old hands. The Galra would not be impressed by ostentatious displays or shows of wealth, and there were leaders who had not yet learned that. A few were dressed plainly and armed, and these were the ones who had lived long enough to know how to handle Zarkon. Though none of their races were known to her, she watched each one and memorized their faces.

When she reached Zarkon's side, she took his hand and knelt, though this time she did not wait for a command to rise. Briefly, she felt eyes on her and she ignored them.

The gaze of one of the tributaries lingered, and Allura took note of him. She had no fear of of the man. Zarkon would never allow him to touch her and if it came to that, she was more than capable of defending herself.

He was tall, taller than her and shorter than Zarkon, and he wore (at least in Allura's opinion) a truly tacky amount of gold jewelry. Even Altean nobility preferred a minimalist approach, the soft white of ghostbone and accents of silver, nothing like this. A jeweled sash held the man's robes closed, and there was a dagger hilted in it, almost as an afterthought, as though he had heard that Zarkon respected warriors and had decided to pretend to be one. His flesh was red, with patterns on it made him look mottled. Since he was alone and without his escorts, there was no one for Allura to compare him to, and she wondered if it was natural. He was narrow and lean, with black hair and a lashing tail that was tipped by a gold spike.

"Who is this lovely creature?" he asked, his eyes lingering on Allura's breasts for entirely too long. He spoke the Galra language, though his attempt at an accent was atrocious.

"I am Allura," she said, coolly, before the Emperor had the chance to speak for her. "Emperor Zarkon's consort and the Queen-Defender of Altea."

She did not ask his name in return and locked eyes with him, leaving the subtle insult hanging in the air. Zarkon looked darkly amused, and more importantly, he didn't correct her. Not that he could. Not without losing face in public. Instead, he offered his arm and she took it.

"This is Elagem," Zarkon said, gesturing. "Of Amatrudos."

"I have never heard of it," Allura said, turning her attention to the Emperor.

"It is not particularly notable," Zarkon returned as Elagem fumed, and the gathered leaders looked relieved that his attention had not fallen on any of them. "But I will not deny that I am eager to see the creature."

 _Creature?_ Allura wondered what Zarkon was up to. She knew there were places where beasts were used as siege weapons or to supplement armed forces, but what use could Zarkon have for them? Individual Galra were formidable, even without military training, and his army was the largest in the galaxy. To say nothing of the synthetic troops and drone-controlled vehicles he used to supplement it.

"Of course." The acknowledgment seemed to allow Elagem to forget the insults, not that he had a choice. His tail stopped lashing and he pressed his fingers together. "We're transporting it now, and I am equally eager to see this 'Champion' of yours."

Now, Allura was truly curious.

*** *** ***

Allura sat next to Zarkon as Elagem walked around the alien in a slow circle. The Emperor's hand rested on her thigh, and a pair of drinks sat on the table next to them, untouched. Allura could not indulge before Zarkon did, and etiquette aside, she had no desire to, she wanted her mind as sharp as possible. With the tributes secured, they had all retired to a private room, so Elagem could see the Champion.

"Is it supposed to have two arms?" Elagem asked, at last. The prince was on his third drink, and Zarkon had not tried to dissuade him.

"Yes" said Zarkon, and left it at that.

The alien stood in the center of room while Elagem prodded and inspected him. He stared straight ahead, at nothing, and Allura suspected that Zarkon had ordered him not to speak before bringing him in.

She had never seen anyone quite like him, and if not for his strange, shapeless ears, she might have said he looked Altean. He was of a size with them, though he was heavier and broader than an Altean man and his race seemed to carry muscle differently. His hair and eyes were dark, save for a streak of white at the front, where she worried Haggar had put her hands on him. Allura watched the strange alien without staring, taking care never to give anything more attention than she gave to Zarkon.

"...and you say it killed Brutasis?" Elagem turned back to them, one eyebrow raised.

Zarkon nodded, and Allura wondered why she was even surprised that it was gladiatorial games he was breeding these monsters for.

"Well," said Elegem with a low whistle, "those idiots on Delereth couldn't make a proper beast if their lives depended on it. My people are _sculptors_ where it comes to shaping flesh. Amatrudos is a planet of artists."

"I should hope you are," Zarkon reached for his drink and took a sip. "Since you are all beginning to bore me."

Elagem gripped the alien's jaw and opened his mouth, ignoring the jab. The man complied, as though he was a doll being manipulated by a child. "It has blunt teeth."

Zarkon watched him, amused. "They eat plants."

"Gods!" Elagem chuckled. "Zarkon! My Razoron is going to devour it alive, and I have no desire to embarrass you publicly. There must be another."

"Just the one," Zarkon said. "The others we captured were useless for fighting."

"You know what I meant!" Elagem gestured with one hand. "Someone more... formidable. People will bet on this fight."

There was no one more formidable, Allura could tell just by looking. Perhaps they were artists on Amatrudos, but they were certainly not quintessence channelers, or Elagem would have sensed the man's auras.

She would have felt it uncharitable to compare him to Zarkon, but the storm of power that surrounded him was undeniable. He was untrained, Allura could sense that too, his power unrefined and unshaped. She wondered how it had happened, and if there had been no one on his planet to teach him. Were there no channelers or sorcerers where he had come from?

It was the power of the Black Lion come again. It was undeniable strength tempered by wisdom and courage, and Allura had become so used to the poison and corruption in Zarkon's quintessence that she had almost forgotten it had once been different. He had forgotten too, or he would have had this man killed the moment he had laid eyes on him. Instead, all had seen was power, and all he had thought of was how he might use it.

Allura doubted any siege-beast would be a match for the alien, even without an arm, and she longed to know if he had a name and what it was. Instead, she said nothing. She did not want to put him in danger by appearing interested, and she dared not even make eye contact.

"We should bet," said Zarkon, there was something in his voice that approached camaraderie, but Allura sensed him drawing a noose closed, "on this fight. You and I."

Elagem paused in the act of feeling the man's shoulders and snorted. "It will hardly be a fight, Emperor." He stroked his chin, thoughtful. "What are your terms?"

"If your Razoron wins, I will--" Zarkon pretended to consider. "Return all the tribute you have brought me this star-cycle. In addition to being publicly embarrassed, of course."

My Razoron _will_ win, so it will hardly be a bet, Zarkon."

"Then you should have no fear in wagering something more valuable," Zarkon said, casually. "The mining rights to your planet's second moon?"

Elagem sputtered. "Now hold on--!"

It had been too much, but Allura had spent her life socializing with leaders and kings, and she knew how to course correct. She laid on hand on Zarkon's arm. "I would be concerned as well," she said, "but you can always wait and bet with the Delereth, Emperor. Surely they have more confidence in their monsters."

Elagem glowered at her, his expression dire. "I have _every_ confidence in our beast," he snapped.

"Excellent to hear," Allura said, almost quickly enough to cut him off. She felt vaguely guilty, but in the end, Elagem was already a collaborator with the Galra, and she wanted to Zarkon to believe he could trust her. She had no desire to watch a gladiatorial match, but if Zarkon brought her, perhaps she could find some way to speak to the man. She gestured to the empty seats opposite them. "You should go over the terms with our Emperor."

Elagem left the man and came back to the seating area, sitting down roughly on the other side of the table. He seized another drink and downed it, all at once.

In the end, he agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick note, I finished watching Season 2 - and while Apart is an AU that was never going to be canonical, I feel it's important to note that it's going to diverge quite a bit from a few key points. 
> 
> Mostly these points relate to Zarkon and the Galra, so I don't want to talk to much about them and instead have them come out in the story.

"What do you think of my Champion?" Zarkon asked as the doors to his apartments hissed closed. "Did you get a good measure of him?"

Allura immediately thought up a diversion that would please him. "He seems curious, but I was more impressed with you. Do your tributaries often fall for that trick?"

Zarkon chuckled. "It seems they never grow tried of it."

He gestured to the bed and Allura cringed internally, even as she stepped out of her shoes and began undressing. The cloth Tsotago had wrapped around her breast was still there, and Allura pulled that off too, letting it fall to the floor amidst the folds of the dress. 

Focusing her quintessence on healing, combined with the attendant's ministrations meant the cuts were almost healed, even after scarcely a day. There were dark welts around the nipple, and it was still tender, but it wasn't bleeding and thankfully there had been no infection or lasting damage. 

Allura asked herself why she cared. It wasn't as if she would ever have a child.

Zarkon moved behind her, his hands roaming over her body. One of them caught her undamaged breast and he rolled the nipple between his fingers. The other slid down between her legs, and he used the flat of his thumb to trace slow circles around her clit. The touch made Allura gasp, and she pressed back against him, despite herself. 

"Elagem would not have agreed if not for you, my dear consort." Zarkon was purring heavily, and Allura felt his fangs graze her ear. "You were risking much, speaking for me."

"Then I am grateful my only punishment was to be publicly acknowledged." Allura sought somewhere to put her hands, and ending up clutching Zarkon's arm. A soft cry escaped her lips as the pad of his thumb pressed down on the nub of her clit. "You said you burned worlds in search of me, forgive me for presuming you wanted to keep me close."

Zarkon's fingers tightened on her nipple, until they pinched. "I had forgotten what clever tongues Alteans have."

Allura squirmed, ashamed to admit that the tyrant's touch was making her slick and hot. Already she could feel wetness on her thighs, and she was sure Zarkon could too. 

"You are the Emperor," Allura said. "You can take anyone you wish to bed. If you all you wanted was a whore, I'm sure there are others more suitable, or that there is no need for me to socialize with your sycophants."

"You have an answer to everything, don't you, Princess?" Zarkon released her. "Get on my bed. Kneel."

Allura pulled away and walked to the bed as slowly as she dared, wanting to seem neither eager not reluctant. She climbed on and knelt as instructed, gripping the blankets and balling her hands into fists. She was not sure which was worse, to be forced to look up at Zarkon as he took her or to be mounted like an animal.

She heard the rustle of clothing being removed and felt the power in Zarkon's auras before he reached her. From behind her on the bed, clawed hands gripped her hips and pulled her backwards, until she felt the head of his cock rubbing over the folds of her sex. Zarkon ground his hips in a slow circle, pushing the tip of his spear between his folds. 

"Lovely," he murmured, and she felt his thumbs stroking over her hips.

The thrust came without warning, and Allura buried her face in the blankets to stifle the cry as Zarkon filled her. He draw back, until he was almost free of her body, and the slammed back in, threatening her with his knot. His quintessence bore down on her, as though his auras had weight, and it was not just his hands that kept her pinned to the bed. The ridges on his cock raked over her, sending jolts of pleasure through her that were at odds with every other sensation.

Heat stung at her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. She could not help from crying out, but she would be damned in Zarkon saw her weeping. Her thighs trembled, and she wanted to draw them shut, but the tyrant's knees were between them. He took her eagerly and deeply, but not entirely without care, and Allura willed him to finish.

It seemed like ages before she felt the telltale swell of his cock. Sweat was beading on her skin from the effort of moving with Zarkon, from holding herself in position to meet his thrusts. The effort had exhausted her enough that even the ache of her captor's knot filling her felt like a relief. Between her legs, Allura felt the knot expand, stretching her to limit of what she could take, and Zarkon came, power thrumming through his auras.

His claws dug into her and he pulled her back against him, holding her by the hips so she couldn't pull away. Not that she would. Allura knew better than to try, and she shook as she felt the thick, hot pulses of Zarkon's seed filling her. There was so much of it that Allura had to resist the urge to shudder in disgust as she felt it being forced into her womb.

Slowly, Zarkon eased them down, so that she was laying with her back pressed to his chest. As usual, his knot did not subside, and he stayed within her as they reclined. His hands came around, stroking over her abdomen, below her navel, and the sensation made her squirm. Much like the positions her captor chose, Allura was forced to wonder what was worse, to be tied to this monster for most of the night or to have him pull free of her body and spill his poison on her breasts and stomach. 

She wanted to scream, but she forced herself to lay still, and closing her eyes, she began a breathing exercise. Zarkon was to present for her to enter a meditative state Even if his auras were lax with sleep, she could feel the beating of his heart and the heat of his body. To say nothing of his cock, still fully erect and sheathed inside her body.

Usually, he would sleep like this, his auras sated and pleased. Tonight, his hands roamed, and Allura's hips jerked involuntarily as Zarkon's thumb brushed against her clit.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. Surely he was finished with her, he had to be.

Allura felt the low rumble of Zarkon's purring, and what she might have dismissed as an accidenital touch now became apparent. Zarkon's fingers circled the little nub, gentle but insistent. "I want you to grow accustomed to coming with me inside you, my lovely consort."

"There is no need for this," she said, resisting the urge to squirm, or worse, to pull away. "I'm... quite fine."

Zarkon didn't respond, except to circle his hips slowly, moving inside her without thrusting. The ridges on his cock rubbing and scraping over sensitive spots deep within her body. His other hand circled underneath her, cupping her breast and then rolling the nipple between his claws. Allura gasped, gripping first at the blankets, and then at Zarkon's arms. Her hips moved with his, they had too, and the stirrings of pleasure she felt rising between her legs were shameful. 

"Yes," he purred. "Just like that."

Truly, it didn't matter if she came or not. It would be as meaningless and facetious as pretending she was at ease when sitting next to the Galra Emperor, or taking his arm in public. A whine escaped from her throat as she tried to remind herself it was nothing more than a physical reaction. 

Only it _wasn't_. Zarkon was worse than a murderer. A monster, a demon. Her father's killer. 

Her chest heaved and she sobbed, and the heat between her legs seemed to flicker and ignite, burning through her as she came with a rough cry. Pain and pleasure and humiliation mixing together as one sensation. Against her will, her body clenched down on Zarkon, trying to draw him in further, as though that were possible. When it at last ended, she sagged against him, exhausted. 

Zarkon's hands stroked over her, as though she were a treasured pet. "Good," he said. "Very good."

Allura didn't respond. Despite the heat, she was shaking, and she couldn't seem to stop.

Claws pricked at her stomach. "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't answer my question," Zarkon said.

Being addressed almost made her grateful. It gave Allura something to focus on that wasn't Zarkon's hands. "What--" She drew a deep breath. "What question was that?"

"My Champion," Zarkon said. "Did you get his measure?"

"I did," Allura said. A lie came easily. "He's powerful, but no threat to you."

From behind her, Zarkon made a pleased noise. "I am glad to hear you say that. It was Haggar's judgement as well."

 _Now that_ , Allura thought. _That was troubling._

*** *** ***

"I suspect Patala doesn't like me," Zarkon said, gazing out over the gardens. 

They were standing in one of the gardens at the capital of Shaeras-Elunore, and the Galra warleader could not have looked more out of place. It was summer, during the season of Wind, and Allura reclined on a bench, barefoot. She closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth of the sun. Some small part of her knew this wasn't real, that she was laying in a bed next to the man who had defiled her, dreaming.

"She's only worried that you're distracting me," Allura said, dismissing the thought. 

"And am I?"

"No," Allura smiled, opening her eyes to watch him. "Not at all. Patala will simply have to understand I have diplomatic duties, as well as scholastic ones."

Zarkon crossed the tiled path towards her, running one hand through a cluster of flowers, his claws tearing an catching at the petals. He wore his armor, a sword at his hip, high boots that were shod with metal. Allura felt vaguely guilty that his manner of dress meant he felt neither comfortable nor safe here. "It is not like this with Galra women."

"How is it then," Allura asked, "with Galra women?"

Zarkon gestured. "They do not need minders, once they are grown."

"Patala is not my minder, Zarkon." Allura giggled. "She is my tutor. Among Alteans, education is a lifelong pursuit, and I have much to learn if I am to someday be Queen."

He glanced away. "She thinks I'm a beast."

All humor abruptly faded from the situation, and despite the sunlight, the assertion made Allura feel cold. "She said this?"

"Not in so many words, but I can see it in her face. In the faces of others." Zarkon's gaze returned to her. "These Altean nobles, they are not like you and Alfor. Or Letaan and Keles. I am not wanted here."

Allura rose from where she sat and crossed the space between them. She took both of Zarkon's hands in her own, and their auras came together and mixed without resistance. She had to ground herself, lest she be carried away by the power in his, and to think it was only beginning to take shape. He had not been trained, no Galra had ever been. No one took notice of slaves.

"Zarkon," Allura reached up, to touch his cheek. "I beg you, give them time. They are not used to seeing Galra who are not our enemies, but they will come to understand, I promise you."

"Or Galra who own themselves." He looked down at her. "They do not think I should be a Paladin."

"Then... allow me to be inescapably clear." Allura rested both hands on his chest, and she couldn't help but to marvel how _powerful_ he was. Even without the strength of his quintessence and the might of the Black Lion, he would have been a formidable warrior. "On that matter, no one's opinion is of any consequence, save mine."

"So, then." He put one hand over hers. "What is your opinion?"

"I believe that--"

"Allura! Is this where you've been!?" The voice startled her, and out of reflex, she pulled back, looking for the source. Zarkon drew back as well, stepping to one side.

Patala, her tutor, was striding up the garden path, looking annoyed. The woman was in the later-stages of the Altean life-cycle, though there was an certain ageless beauty in her immaculate manner of dress and the proud way she carried herself. Patala glowered. "You were supposed to meet with the representative from Porria when they landed!"

Allura's auras froze, and she felt immensely foolish when she realized what hour it was. Had she been out here with Zarkon all day?

She cast her gaze about, looking for her shoes. "Patala, forgive me. I'll see them immediately, just let me--"

Patala turned to Zarkon, frowning. "You," she snapped, wagging a finger at him, sternly. "You are a terrible influence on the Princess."

...and then her tutor was taking her by the arm, pulling her away, as she gazed back up at the path at Zarkon's figure, the dream ending.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief, non-explicit reference to an underage character in this chapter.
> 
> Shiro's description of what writing is comes from The Dark Crystal (which he has watched, like a thousand times).

Zarkon rarely slept through the night. 

It was the cost of running so much of his Empire personally. Inevitably there would be some emergency or matter of deployment that his officers couldn't handle on their own, and they would call for him. He would rise and go to them, leaving a grateful Allura alone in his bed. This was not the case today, and Zarkon still lay next to her when she woke in the early hours of the morning.

He hadn't taken her again before he finally left, thank the gods, but his presence meant the attendants did not come. Allura was not entirely surprised by that. If they were permitted some degree of autonomy in when they arrived and left, she could not blame them for using it to avoid Zarkon.

Despite her royal status, Allura was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Alteans prized maturity and self-sufficiency, and both her and her father had had a staff of retainers only because their time was limited and impressively valuable. As one of the only Alteans who could open wormhole-gates, Allura's time was best spent on the bridge of a warship, not buried in the minutiae of household management. 

Not to say that she _couldn't_ manage a household. After all, they had all thought that the war was going to end someday, and she had spent a great deal of time being educated in matters both courtly and personal.

Allura rose from Zarkon's bed and bathed herself, rising from the water when she finished and wrapping herself in a clean sleeping robe. It wasn't as if she had any trouble finding one, of the clothing provided, all the sleeping robes were clean. Zarkon was yet to give her a chance to wear one. She tied the sash loosely at her waist and sat down to brush out her hair, pinning it up behind her head. 

There was a mirror in the part of the apartments that had been set aside for her. It was something that Zarkon had placed there after he captured her, Allura was sure. The Galra Emperor was many things, but he had never been a vain creature. She needed to use the glass to secure her hair, but Allura tried not to look at herself for too long. 

She worried that she looked as broken and haggard as her auras felt, and at the same time she worried that Zarkon's abuses were not as bad as she was imagining them to be. Surely others were suffering worse. The strange Champion with his missing arm, Tsotago and her daughters, poor Solu - who couldn't, or wouldn't, speak. 

Allura was sore throughout her body, and she felt weary and used, but she was still intact, thank the gods. Zarkon could not give her a child that his soldiers would tear from her arms. There was no unnamed horror that had taken her voice. It seemed petty to complain, and Allura pointed her gaze away from the mirror. 

She had work to do, and she smoothed down her sleeping robe and stood. 

Striding to the door, Allura stepped outside barefoot. Two Galra stood guard, though only one of them was pureblooded. She put on her best imperious expression as she stepped close enough to feel their auras, and the half-breed shrank back from her, pulling away his auras and turning his head before she could get his measure. It didn't matter, she only needed one.

"I have eaten something the disagrees with me," she said, crisply. "Fetch my maids."

They both stared at her now, yellow-gold eyes lingering entirely too long. That had been exactly her intention. A sleeping robe was not truly clothing, and though it hung loosely, it left little to the imagination. Allura glared at them in return. 

"It was _not_ a request," she said. "And if your staring delays you another moment I shall have to tell Zarkon you think you have some claim over what belongs to him."

They turned to each other, sharing a hurried, worried glance, and took off down the hallway. Allura watched them, and when they turned a corner, she stepped back into Zarkon's apartments and closed the doors. 

Closing her eyes, she swept her quintessence out, beyond the dark stone walls of the Emperor's apartment, questing into the labyrinthine halls that lay beyond. It was no challenge to sense the two guards as they headed towards a lower set of chambers, and Allura noted that Tsotago and the others had quarters that lay surprisingly close to Zarkon's. He must have wanted them on hand. 

Power thrummed through her auras as she used the guards as a point of reference to stretch her magical senses as far as they would go. She could sense the Black and Red Lions, held in hangars somewhere above her, their power limitless and yet confined. The blankets on the bed rustled and her robe swirled around her, as though caught in a gust of wind, but try as she might, she couldn't sense the Champion. 

Wherever Zarkon was keeping him, it was not here.

Allura drew her senses back and went to arrange herself on the bed, intending to look suitably distressed when the guards returned with Tsotago. She was not entirely disappointed with the results, she had learned where the slave quarters of those who served Zarkon and his officers lay, and now she knew where the Champion _wasn't_.

The doors opened a moment later and Tsotago bustled in, followed by Solu. Belyo was absent, and as always, Allura worried. The two Galra tried to follow her in and the old woman snapped her teeth at them. 

"No," Tsotago said, firmly. "A woman to handle women's business."

It seemed to be enough for them, and Solu pulled the doors shut with an echoing slam. The moment they sealed, Tsotago hurried over to the bed, not bothering to conceal a look of disgust with the soiled blankets. 

Before Allura could speak, the older woman gripped her by the chin, looking into her eyes and turning her head to one side, then the other. Tsotago laid one clawed hand across Allura's forehead and frowned. "Nothing wrong with you," she pronounced. "What is this?"

"Forgive me--"

"I worried," Tsotago said. "For you, for my daughters."

Of course she had been worried. If something happened to Allura, even something minor, there was no doubt all three of the attendants would be punished. 

"It was not right to lie," Allura admitted, "but I had to speak with you. This cannot wait."

Tsotago did not look impressed, but she said nothing to discourage Allura from speaking. Instead, she folded her arms and waited.

"Tsotago," Allura said, "Solu. I must be completely honest. I wish to escape from this place, but I cannot do it alone. I need your help."

It was a risk, to give voice to her hopes. There was no proof that Tsotago or any of the other attendants weren't Galra plants. Allura could read the woman's auras, and she could sense kindness beneath Tsotago's rough exterior, but that proved nothing. Encouragingly, she could not sense Haggar's power, or the dark magic of another druid, and that would have to suffice. She was desperate and she needed allies.

The Omokk's reaction was to snort. "Escape?" Tsotago rolled her eyes. "Even the fastest ship is no match for his demon. Nothing can stand against it."

For the moment, Allura kept the fact that the Black Lion was merely a component for a greater weapon to herself. There was no need to be discouraging. 

"If I am planning correctly," Allura said, "we would escape in the Black Lion."

Now Tsotago looked wary, and then, skeptical. "The demon knows its master. Who else could command it?"

That Tsotago saw the Voltron Lions as demons infuriated Allura as much as any of Zarkon's abuses did, and she bit down on the urge to correct the other woman. After all, the attendant was right. Tsotago and the other slaves had only known the Black Lion as a source of terror and oppression. Allura centered herself. Zarkon may have been disgracing her father's legacy, but that was hardly Tsotago's fault, and it would not be right to make the slave the target of her ire. Instead, she reserved all her fury for Zarkon.

"It may be possible to take the Lion from him," Allura said, rising from the bed to sit on the edge of it. "Someone with quintessence similar enough to Zarkon's could command the Black Lion. Even if all we did was deprive him of it, it would still be a great victory."

"Who?" Tsotago asked. 

"There is another slave here," Allura said. "I saw him for the first time yesterday. Zarkon's Champion. Do you know of him?"

"I-- Princess, we all _know_ of him." Tsotago blinked, confused. "I do not understand this. Why you would say this thing."

Allura refused to allow herself to become frustrated. Tsotago was not a sorceress, and to expect her to instantly understand the minutiae of quintessence comparisons and aura fluxes would be foolish. "I know it's difficult to understand, but try think of it like a mirror--"

"Before this Champion, there was another. Brutasis." Tsotago shook her head. "He won many times, and the Galra gave him women or _kyr_ because they were pleased by him winning. Sometimes, after, they brought his prizes to me. Almost always too broken to fix."

This was important, and Allura fell silent to listen. _Kyr_ was a Galra word, but one she didn't know, and Allura was forced to admit that her knowledge of Galra dialects was at this point, ancient.

"The Champion killed him, and others since. Monsters, seige beasts. The Galra don't care that Brutasis is gone, only for victory."

"Your point is that he's kinder to his women?"

"No," Tsotago said. "That he has no women."

Allura blinked. 

"He does not do this." Tsotago gestured to the ruined sheets. "Because it does not matter if it is done kindly or not. He is not like Zarkon. They are different. In spirit."

To explain that Zarkon had once been kind would have been pointless, Allura realized, and it justified nothing. Anything he had once been didn't matter. What had been done to him didn't matter. He was unworthy of the Black Lion and she would take it from him if it killed her. If Tsotago thought her story would dissuade Allura, it had only done the opposite. They were the same traits, leadership, courage, control, reflected differently. She felt even more sure of herself now.

Allura reached out, to touch the woman's hand. "That is why I think we can succeed, but I must speak with him. Can you take him a message?"

Silence hung between them for a long moment, and finally, Tsotago turned to look at Solu. The taller woman held up one finger. 

"Fine." Tsotago exhaled sharply. "What is to be said?"

*** *** ***

Before he had been kidnapped and enslaved by a group of facist, galaxy-conquering aliens, Shiro had never been self-conscious about his height. 

Now that he was out in space, it turned out that humans weren't all that big. 

Tharog, for example, was nearly twice Shiro's height and perhaps five times his mass. The other gladiator was a Haruuk, which according to him, meant ' _a man from Harru's tribes_ '. He stood outside Shiro's cell, just barely in the margin of the common area where gladiators were permitted to roam when they weren't on lockdown, his arms crossed over his broad green chest.

Next to Tharog, Xaal sat at a table, playing a tile-counting game with a pair of other inmates. She was his opposite, narrow and fragile-looking and small. If she had been standing, she would have just reached Shiro's navel. Her skin and hair were dark blue, mottled with wispy markings, like a night sky. A pair of curved horns framed her face. 

Tharog gestured towards the cell with his head. "He's in there." A pause. "An he ain't happy."

"He's never happy," Shiro said. His prosthetic felt off, unbalanced and too-heavy, the way it always did after they reattached it. He wished they hadn't taken it off, but Zarkon had obviously wanted his slave to look as helpless as possible. 

Tharog nodded to him, looking him over, tusks grinding as he shifted his jaw. "You alright?"

Shiro flinched and wished he hadn't. After all, it was if anyone could tell just by looking. "It wasn't a social call." Zarkon let him keep his prosthetic on for those.

Tharog grunted something unintelligible in response. 

"I'll go and talk to him," Shiro said, glancing towards the cell. "Just give me a second."

"You'd better," Tharog muttered, his voice guttural. "Cause he's gonna _go off_."

Xaal perked up as Shiro came over, rising to stand on the bench to get a little closer to eye-level with him. She held her hand out, palm facing him. "Vah, Champion," she said. 

Shiro pressed his good hand to hers. "Vah, Spider-Killer."

As near as Shiro could tell, everyone from Xaal's planet had the same name (which was Xaal), and they only rose to being acknowledged as individuals by acquiring titles. Xaal was 'Spider-Killer', and before she had been captured and enslaved by the Galra, she had done just that. 

According to her, there were spiders on her planet the size of men, and though she was much, much smaller than he was, that was still _way_ to big for a spider. Five minutes after meeting her, he had decided that anyone brave enough to fight a spider the same size as they were must be a total badass, and he hadn't been wrong.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked. 

"No," said Shiro. "Not this time, and I got you something while Zarkon's friend was feeling me up."

He reached inside his shirt and plucked the medallion he'd palmed off Elagem out, and Xaal cackled as she reached out to take it, clutching it between tiny fingers.

"You say you don't want a woman," she said, turning it over in her hands, then clutching it again, "but I'm starting to think you like me."

Patiently, Shiro took her hands, turning them so the font of the medallion showed. He didn't acknowledge the comment. "This is writing," he said, using one finger to indicate a row of glyphs and characters he had no idea how to read. "You remember when we talked about writing?"

"Yes." Xaal nodded, watching raptly. "Words that stay."

"Right." Shiro nodded. "The man I took this from brought a monster here to kill us all. It'll be down in the Pens, and the writing on its holding area will look like these letters, even if they're not in the same order. Do you think you can sneak down there and find it? We'll stand a better chance if we know what we're up against."

"Vah, Champion. Have I ever failed you?" She held out her hand again, and Shiro pressed his palm to it.

"Vah, Spider-Killer. Of course not." He smiled. "Which is why I wouldn't trust anyone else with this."

Xaal nodded to him, solemn. She hopped off the bench and hurried away, disappearing into the black-grey sea of inmates. Shiro wanted nothing more than to sit down in the darkness of his cell and get lost in his own head for a while, but there was no time. And of course, there was someone else in his cell.

"Good luck," Tharog said, with a low grunt of acknowledgement, and Shiro patted his arm on the way past.

*** *** ***

While they were there, Tsotago and Solu helped Allura dress. 

"Tsotago," said Allura, holding out her arms. "I speak the Galra language, but earlier, you used a word I've never heard before. What are the _kyr_?"

The omokk woman snorted. "A half-blooded, one unfit to fight or breed. They remove the knot. The officers use them." She gestured, with one hand, in the direction of the door. "You saw the one, the guard outside the door. Not big enough to be Galra."

Solu made the tiniest gesture, with one finger, and Tsotago laughed. 

The explanation upset Allura for more than one reason, but perhaps the most disturbing thing was that there were enough _kyr_ that there were words to describe the practice. She supposed Zarkon had had ten thousand years to rule unchecked, and she wished she had not expected better of him. 

"I can't imagine any part of this is funny," she said, trying a sash around her waist to close her dress. 

"No," said Tsotago, chortling. "Not funny, but the little _kyr_ is. Did you see him? Never seen breasts before and now he likes yours. Gawking like a _palaag_."

Allura flushed, and then felt absurd for it. It wasn't as if she had any dignity left to salvage. Zarkon had seen every part of her, what did it matter who else was looking? But thinking back, she could see the boy shrinking back and looking away. He had at least _tried_ to be polite, hadn't he?

"Is _kyr_ a kind word?" Allura asked. "Or is it one that is used to mock them?"

Tsotago shrugged, the question beyond her ability to care about the intricacies of Galra language. "Better than 'half-blooded', better than 'bastard'."

"If the _kyr_ are truly unfit to fight," Allura said, "then it seems very odd to me that one should be guarding the Emperor's apartments."

"You always have questions." Tsotago stepped back and inspected Allura's dress. "Probably Atraxus did this."

"Who is that?"

"Zarkon's officer." The old woman's face scrunched up, like she wanted to spit. "He likes the _kyr_ , when they are that young, keeps them nearby. That one is getting old. Be gone soon."

 _Disgusting_ , Allura thought, but the information was valuable, and now she had something else to work with. As she left the apartments she blessed Tsotago and bowed her head to Solu, another plan already forming in her mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! Coran's fine. He's just in Gen Pop.
> 
> And, y'know, no one bothered to tell Allura he was alive.

Back when they had run flights in the simulator, Shiro and Matt had joked about hypothetical alien abduction scenarios a dozen times. The details of the situations they carefully laid out in their heads seemed faded and dull to him now, save one.

He had always assumed that Matt would be the valuable one. 

Matt was a scientist, an engineer. He was one of Earth's best and brightest, but that hadn't mattered to the Galra. There had been nothing Matt could tell them to save himself. Compared to the Galra Empire, Earth was a deeply primitive culture. Solar sails and fusion drives barely elevated their scientists above scratching in the dirt.

Shiro thought about Matt every time he had a moment alone. He hoped the work camps were better than this.

Right now though, he wasn't getting a moment alone, because Coran had been waiting for him in his cell and Coran was furious. 

"Coran," said Shiro, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop yelling. It's not helping."

"Not helping!?" The Altean's arms flailed. He was always like this. Outrageous. Animated. "You know what's 'not helping'?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me." Shiro, who was sitting on the narrow bench that served as his bed, leaned back against the well. He felt the beginnings of a headache coming on, and they'd only been talking for a handful of minutes.

"What's 'not helping' is that you were in the same room as Allura and you didn't even tell her we're going to rescue her!"

"I think you're vastly underestimating my social contributions to these situations." The other thing Coran was underestimating was their actual ability to escape and rescue anyone, but Shiro kept that to himself, lest he set off another outburst. From what he understood through previous conversations, Coran and Allura had some kind of starship, but they needed Allura to power it. The... alternate fuel source seemed to make perfect sense to the Altean, who had nearly been in fits when Shiro had tried to describe a chemical rocket to him. Jet fuel exploded, so strapping yourself to a rocket full of it was beyond insane. After that, Coran's rant had devolved into something about races with short lifespans always having death wishes. 

Coran spun around and quirked an eyebrow at him, and Shiro was left wondering where the man got all his energy. "Are you sure it was Allura?"

He leaned forward, resting his arms over his thighs. "She looked like the woman you described, so unless there's another beautiful space princess lounging around with Zarkon--"

"Hey!" Coran's voice echoed around the narrow confines of the cell. "What's that? What's that all about? What do you mean by that?!"

"What part?" Shiro asked, unable to keep exasperation out of his tone. The Altean was frustrating at the best of times, and when he was agitated, he was--

"Beautiful!?" Coran squinted at him. "You had better not have any intentions about the Princess!"

"I didn't say--"

"And what do you mean, 'with Zarkon'!?" Coran leaned forward and poked Shiro in the chest. It made him flinch, and Shiro bit back the urge to slap the older man away. It had been careless, but it didn't mean anything. He was badly in need of friends, and as much as he hated to admit it, the fact that Alteans looked so much like humans was a source of comfort. It helped him stay grounded.

"What do you want me to say?" Shiro pulled back, rubbing his temple with his good hand. "She was with him. They were sitting together. She was holding his arm while she helped him cheat his tributaries out of mining rights."

"Well now, that doesn't sound right at all. Allura wouldn't do something like that." Coran stroked his mustache. "Are you sure it was her?"

"We're coming back around to the fact that I think there's only one beautiful space princess running around the castle."

Coran threw his hands up. "You should have told her about us!"

"Coran," Shiro said, firmly. "When they take me away, it's not to socialize with Zarkon's friends. Talking to her would have put us all in danger."

"I know! It's just that--"

"If Allura is with Zarkon," Shiro went on, undaunted, even though it was starting to feel like someone was tightening a band around his head, "I'm sure it's only because she's trying to stay alive, just like we are."

...but it was hard to say for sure. Zarkon was surrounded by kings and queens who had sold out their people, though Shiro didn't bring it up. Maybe Allura knew Coran was down here, locked up in the darkness at the bottom of the world. Maybe she didn't care. It was best not to say anything. Coran was upset enough already, and Shiro watched as the Altean stalked up and down the length of the cell, like a caged lion. Considering the size of the space they were dealing with, it made him look ridiculous. 

"We have to-- have to find some way to send a message to her!"

"When I win tomorrow, Zarkon will have me brought up to his rooms." They'd let him keep his arm for that. Zarkon didn't like it unless his Champion fought back, he never wanted it to be too easy. Shiro glanced up at Coran. "I can try and talk to her then."

"Why in god's name would he--" Coran's expression crumpled as he realized what he was saying. He stopped pacing, and slowly, he turned to face Shiro. "Oh, oh no. Oh, Shiro. I-I didn't know. I shouldn't have--"

"I'm fine," Shiro said, lying. "Don't freak out. Just tell me what to say to Allura to get her to trust me."

"Lucky for you, I've got a speech all prepared!" Coran sprang over and sat down next to him, but still a safe distance apart, grabbing the change of subject and running with it. "We can start practiciing it right now."

*** **** ***

Allura went to Zarkon and took his hand, lowering herself to one knee and then rising. He gestured in acknowledgement and she moved to sit next to him. 

The Emperor had been speaking to two of his commanders. One, she recognized as Prorok, who was accompanied by his younger lieutenant, and the other she had never seen before. Prorok was the commander of the Hub's navy, a man held in high regard. He was visibly aging and his frame, though still thick with muscle, was beginning to run to fat. Allura knew little of him, but she at least admired the fact that he had enough grace not to gawk at her. His lieutenant barely looked up from the datapad he was working on as his superiors discussed Warfleet deployments.

"I must speak with you," she said quietly, to Zarkon. "When there is time."

"Prorok," said Zarkon. "I trust you to see to the rest of the deployments and join me at the games tonight, bring Thace. That will be all for now."

Prorok rose almost immediately, his lieutenant snapping the cover of his datapad closed and doing the same. The other commander had gone ignored, but if he found it a slight, he dared not say anything.

"Emperor," he said, saluting and touching his fist to his heart. The others did the same, and all three of them left. Allura watched them go, wondering if Zarkon's high command took their cues about what was permitted from him. Did they all have kept women? Did they take desperate or hopeful _kyr_ to their beds? Could any Galra officer be trusted?

"I have no desire to distract you," Allura said, when the door hissed closed behind Prorok, and the lieutenant she guessed was Thace. 

"I trust Prorok," Zarkon said. "He was a great warrior when he was younger, and he is a great general now. He can handle the deployments."

"I will still keep this short," Allura said. "I require a bodyguard."

"No, you don't." Zarkon laughed, amused. "I know the Lioness has claws."

There was no point in pretending he was wrong, but Allura continued anyways. "As your consort, it would be... unseemly for me to fight in public."

"Perhaps for Alteans."

"Zarkon," said Allura. "Unless you have forgotten, I _am_ Altean."

He looked her up and down. "Has someone threatened you?"

"I have no intention of waiting until they do." Allura rested her hand on his arm, wondering what the result of naming someone would be, but it not the time to test if Zarkon cared where the truth lay. "You are the ruler of all known space, surely there have been attempts on your life. Being your consort is hardly a position of safety."

"I'll have Prorok assemble--"

Allura leaned up, and kissed the corner of his mouth. The act disgusted her, but she reminded herself that an act was _all_ it was. Zarkon looked startled, even surprised at the gentle touch, and then he smiled, pleased. 

"I would never think of creating more work for you or your commanders," she said, "and I know how to properly manage a diplomatic staff. I would not have approached you if I didn't already have someone in mind."

"Now I'm curious." Zarkon raised an eyebrow. "Which of my followers caught your eye?"

"There is a boy who I have seen guarding the officer apartments," Allura said. "A _kyr_."

"It can't be him." Zarkon snorted, derisive. "They're unfit for fighting, not truly Galra."

"I acknowledge that," Allura said, "but I understand they're castrated."

"I don't see how that follows."

"My point," Allura said, steeling herself as she rose slightly, moving to straddle Zarkon's lap, "is that I will be spending a great deal of time with this bodyguard, and I wish for there to be _no_ gossip about whose bed I go to each night."

As Zarkon's hands came up to stoke her thighs, she wondered about the _kyr_. Tsotago had said they cut them, but Allura wondered if that meant they severed everything at the root, or if a surgeon did only what they had to in order remove the knot. It was likely the former, which would be much simpler. 

"Besides that," she said, tracing the seams of Zarkon's armor with her fingertips, "a _kyr_ would not be taken away from other duties he had to you. It's the perfect solution."

Zarkon seemed to consider it. His thumbs drawing circles on her thighs as he did. "The boy who guards the officer apartments?" he asked, at last. 

Concern pricked at Allura's auras as she realized there may well be more than one. "Atraxus' boy," she said, in an attempt to narrow it down, "but I would wish to see him to be certain."

"Atraxus likes runts."

"I'm certain I will not find him unteachable," Allura said, but much more importantly, a _kyr_ would not be immediately loyal to one of Zarkon's commanders. If Prorok assigned someone, that bodyguard would be Zarkon's (or perhaps Prorok's) spy first and her bodyguard second. The tyrant's hands roamed over her as he considered, and they came up to cup her breasts. Allura resigned herself to giving Zarkon what he wanted. She had come to a bridge, now she had to pay the toll, and she thought of every piece of tech sealed away behind a genetic scan. About the hangar above Zarkon's apartments that held the Red and Black Lions.

This was, however, not a good place for giving him what he wanted, and she put one hand over Zarkon's. "We'll ruin the dress."

"Then take me in your mouth," he said.

If that was to be the only price, fine. Allura rose from Zarkon's lap to kneel on the floor at his feet, her long dress pooling around her on the floor. The warlord reached out, his claws stroking through her hair. The pin she had used to secure it loosened, threatening to slip free.

"The Queen of Altea on her knees before me," he said. "Now that _is_ a lovely sight."

Allura didn't give him the satisfaction of a response, and she pulled her auras back so he couldn't feel them. Not that it really mattered, they were so tattered and ruined she doubted they would mix properly with another's. She ran her hands over the front of his pants, undoing the fastenings, and half-wishing she were more experienced, if only to hurry in accomplishing the act and get it over with - she had no real desire to please Zarkon.

He was not fully aroused yet, the way he usually was as he watched her undress, and his cock was sheathed inside his body. The slit was narrow, and it would have been nearly invisible if she hadn't know what to look for. Slowly, she traced it with her fingertips, and then leaned down, running her tongue over the length of it. Above her, Zarkon made a pleased noise. His fingers tangled into her hair, knocking the pin loose and sending it tumbling down over her shoulders.

The head of his cock, black and tapered nearly into a spike, slid free of its sheath, and Allura closed her mouth over it. Without the aid of a magic trick, he was to big for her passage, and as his cock harded and emerged, she already knew he would be to big for her mouth. Using her hands, she stroked him where he wouldn't fit, hoping that would be enough. 

For a time it was, and Zarkon circled his hips slowly, sliding in and out of her mouth with shallow thrusts. Once his cock was fully free, Allura used one hand to stoke the base of it, around his knot. She loathed the thing, but it somehow seemed smaller in her hand than in her body.

"Look up at me," he ordered, without warning.

Allura steeled herself, and did as he asked, unable to keep her shoulders from sagging in shame. 

"Beautiful," he purred, cupping her chin with one hand. "This is truly were you belong."

If she bit him, he would kill her, and it was the only thing that held her back from doing it. She knew she couldn't keep fury from burning in her eyes, and she felt it flood her auras, but it only seemed to amuse Zarkon more. On her tongue, she tasted the first drops of his seed. It wasn't as bad as she had expected, and yet it still made her want to retch. 

"You had better swallow every drop," Zarkon said, grinning down at her, "you don't want to ruin your dress."

Gods! She wanted to murder him, but instead she bent back down to her task. Allura wished she could imagine something else, but Zarkon's auras made it impossible for her mind to retreat elsewhere. His hips moved, and then he began to thrust into her mouth in earnest, with just barely enough control to avoid hurting her. The tip of his cock threatened to push down her throat at the apex of each thrust, and she couldn't help but to whimper in protest. Not that it mattered, the sound went ignored.

It seemed like hours before Zarkon's fist tightened into her hair, tugging it painfully as he came with a low growl. His hips jerked upwards, pressing the tip of his cock against the back of her mouth, nearly choking her as she forced herself to swallow his spurting, hot seed. At least, like this, there was less of it. Without his knot encompassed by the heat of her body, it went down quickly.

As he finished, she turned away, still kneeling. Allura resisted the urge to wipe at her mouth with her sleeves. If she left black smears on the fabric, Zarkon might not allow her to change or wash them away. Surely, his officers already knew what was happening, but she had no desire to layer on the humiliations she had suffered. Her throat burned, and her legs hurt from kneeling on the cold stone floor, but she dared not look back up at Zarkon. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and stayed where she was. 

She heard the rustle of clothing as he closed the front of his pants, and the scrape of metal as Zarkon rose.

"Don't linger here long," he said as he walked past. "I still have need of you."

*** *** ***

"Coran, there's not going to be time to give a ten-minute speech," Shiro said. "It needs to be something simple."

"Well this is the proper form of address for royalty." Coran had gone back to pacing around. "So you're just going to have to work on your memorization."

"I might not to be able to talk to her for long." Shiro drummed the fingers of his prosthetic on his thigh, waiting for it to calibrate and sync back up. "Just tell me what I can say to her that will prove I really know you, and I'm not a Galra plant."

"I don't see what you're getting at."

"You could tell me her middle name, or something that happened during her childhood that Zarkon wouldn't know about," Shiro offered. He held up his good hand, spacing the fingers just an inch apart. "Something short?"

Coran squinted down at him. "What's a 'middle name'?"

Before Shiro could answer, a shadow fell across them, as a figure stepped through the door. The cell was crowded enough with just Coran and himself in it, and the newcomer made it feel practically claustrophobic. She was an alien, because to Shiro, everyone out here was, and she wore a white sash across her chest. Her upper arms were clasped in front of her, and her lower ones were folded across her hips. He knew her, after a fashion, her name was Tama, and she was one of the women who belonged to the gladiators.

So, technically, his woman, but the thought disgusted him.

"Tama," he said, standing up as she passed through the threshold of the cell. She knew he had no interest in her, so she wouldn't have come unless it was important, and he wondered if she had news. "What is it? Have you heard about Solu?"

"Hey, now!" Coran waved his arm at Tama. "We were talking. This was a private conversation! You can't barge in like that!"

"Hail, Champion." Tama lowered her head then raised it, and Shiro took Coran's arm and wielded it back down. "Solu lives. She was taken to serve the officers. She hopes you are well."

"Just who the quiznak is Solu?!"

"Coran, _not now_."

Tama smiled indulgently. "Solu is a very beautiful woman. The most beautiful of all the women here. The favorite of Brutasis, but the Champion liked her too, and he tried to take her from him. They fought over her."

"Is that true?" Coran jerked his arm back and squinted at Shiro.

"It's close enough for government work," Shiro muttered, and like with the work camps, he wondered if serving the Galra officers was better or worse. "Is she alright?"

"She lives," Tama repeated, deflecting the question. "I have a message, for the Champion."

"Alright," said Coran, gesturing with one hand. "Out with it. I'm already talking to Shiro so you're just going to have to be quick about it--"

"This message," said Tama, "is _only_ for the Champion."

"Coran," said Shiro, urging him with a little shove. "Give us a minute."

The Altean sputtered, protesting, but he edged his way around Tama, towards the door. "We're not finished yet!" he shouted, pointing at Shiro, who rubbed his forehead with one hand as Coran disappeared around the corner. Tama waited patiently, her eyes never moving from him.

"Tama--"

"Your friend is right, I do have to be quick." The alien stepped forward. "Princess Allura is planning your rescue, but she needs help."

"Wait," Shiro said, blinking. "She wants to rescue me? Why? How? What kind of help?"

 _Why not Coran?_ he thought. Did she not know her retainer was down here? Didn't she care? What was so damn special about a human she'd never met?

Why _him_? For fuck's sake, why not Matt?

"She asks that you win this match, and stay alive that she might speak with you." Tama reached inside the folds of her dress and plucked something out, taking his good hand and pressing the object into it. "..and if you would be her ally, to wear this. She will be watching."

Shiro glanced down at it. The object in question looked like a bone fragment, and it had a carving on it, though what it meant, he didn't know. A tiny hole had been bored into it, and through it, someone had passed a strip of rough cloth. He thought back to the woman he had seen with Zarkon. Allura. It couldn't have been anyone else, she matched Coran's description too closely, and she hadn't been wearing any jewelry. The cloth, wherever it had come from, didn't match her dress either. Nothing about the token seemed able to be traced back to her, even if the Galra caught him with it. He could just say he had taken it from another prisoner or a monster he'd killed, things like that were common enough.

Clever. It was very clever. 

He wound the cloth around the knuckles of his good hand and closed it over the bone chip. It was small enough to disappear entirely. Perfect.

"Tama," said Shiro. "Thank you."

She bowed her head and turned, her skirts swirling as she left the cell. Coran bustled back in the second she was clear of the door, looking annoyed.

"What was that all about?"

"Apparently," said Shiro, sucking in a deep breath, "we're going to be rescued. All we have to do is stay alive."


	6. Chapter 6

Two Galra soldiers dragged the boy into Zarkon's throne room and threw him down at the Emperor's feet. Without a word, they saluted, fist to chest, and left.

Zarkon's gaze fell on the boy, and Allura knew how heavy it must feel. 

"Get up," he ordered. 

The boy stood, and Allura got her first good look at him. 

He was small for a Galra, there was no denying that. Perhaps the same height as she was and only barely more muscular. Atraxus it seemed, really did like runts, though Allura knew Galra could sometimes add muscle and height surprisingly late in life. He had a mess of soft-looking purple-black hair that fell into his face and down over his shoulders, and he held his ears down in submission. 

He was terrified. His breathing was heavy and his auras were waning. Allura suspected he'd gotten into a fight with the guards, but the purple of his skin made it hard to see bruises. It looked like they had grabbed him while he was sleeping. She could see his teeth, and most of them were blunt. Oddly, the shape of them and the way they were arranged made her think of the Champion's teeth, which she had seen when Elagem had forced his mouth open.

"Is this the one?" Zarkon asked. 

Allura nodded. It was, and it was a relief, because she would have had to take whichever boy Zarkon produced. The gods had at last decided to turn their faces towards her. 

She had half-expected the boy to try and blame her for whatever punishment he thought was coming. To tell Zarkon she had tempted him by going outside in a sleeping robe, or that she had lied about him staring. To say something to try and save himself.

...but he didn't. His folded ears aside, he stood his ground and tried to look brave, and Allura allowed her estimation of the little kyr to increase, just slightly. Bravery was not necessary, but it was useful to her.

"This is my consort," Zarkon said, gesturing to her. "Allura, the Queen of Altea." 

Now the boy looked between them, confused.

"Her life," said Zarkon, "is now your life."

The Emperor stood and gestured to one the sentries flanking his throne, and Allura saw that it was holding a sword. She understood the significance, and just like slaves, she suspected that _kyr_ were not allowed to be armed. Zarkon took it, and held it out to the boy. "You will serve as her bodyguard from this moment until the moment you die."

The boy stared at him, speechless. Curiosity and amazement warring it out with terror on his face. He chanced a glance over at Allura, and she nodded. 

"Take it," urged Zarkon. "Before I change my mind."

The boy reached out, cautious, as though he expected Zarkon to snatch the blade away or strike him with it. First, he laid his hands on the sword, and then he lifted it carefully, pulling it towards him and holding it over his chest. He clutched at it, weighing the enormity of what had just happened, and held it against his body so that Zarkon wouldn't see his hands shaking. 

"Do not ever make me regret this," Zarkon warned. 

The boy knelt down, holding the sword to his chest with one arm and touching his forehead to the ground at Zarkon's feet. "I won't, Emperor," his voice was shaky, with terror or elation, Allura couldn't quite be sure. 

Zarkon gestured to the boy to rise and turned back to Allura. "I trust you to handle the rest of it," he said. "Do not think this relieves you of any duties you have to me."

Allura went to him and took his hand, kissing the fingers. "Of course not, Emperor."

Zarkon gave her the barest nod of acknowledgment and left, his cloak swirling around him as he stalked out, the sound of his boots echoing in the cavernous room. 

*** *** ***

"Okay," said Shiro, looking down at the picture Xaal was drawing, "so it turns out staying alive is going to be a little harder than I thought."

"Vah, Champion," said Xaal, who was at his side, standing on a bench. "You said you wanted to know."

"Vah, Spider-Killer, I guess I did." Shiro rubbed his chin, watching Xaal draw a monster that looked like it was mostly spikes and mouths. If this was what art looked like on Amatrudos, Shiro decided he didn't want to go there.

Tharog stood opposite them, hunched over the other side of the table, but Shiro didn't think the viewing angle would make things any better. "Guess we would have been happier ignorant," the Haruuk said. 

"Maybe," Shiro said, "but we'd also be deader. So let's think of a way we can kill this thing."

Coran was sitting, his chin in his hand, watching intently. "If Zarkon's got so much riding on this, can't you just... ask him for help? Get him to have the guards feed the thing poison or a sleeping drug."

"It doesn't work that way," Shiro said. "He likes a fair fight. Within a certain tolerance of 'fair'."

Xaal pointed at the drawing. "It crawls on its belly, but it's fast. It has many legs underneath the shell, like a beetle, and no eyes. It can't see."

"Which means it has some other way of sensing us," Shiro said. "It can smell us or hear us or feel vibrations in the ground."

"It looks a bit like a wamacrum," said Coran. "Only uglier and meaner, and if you've ever seen a wamacrum, you'd know that the old saying is true--"

Tharog snorted. "If you're not gonna fight, Altean, quit talkin'."

"I can fight just fine!" Coran snapped. "I'm not old or anything! They just don't want to let me out. I think they're worried about Allura seeing me. And it's a good thing they are, because I'd give these Galra such a thrashing--"

Tharog rolled his eyes and grunted something under his breath that Shiro was certain tilted towards the obscene.

"Tharog," he said, sternly. "That won't help. Coran?"

"Hn? Yes?" Coran looked up at him.

"Explain what a wamacrum is, and tell us how to kill one."

*** *** ***

The boy glanced over at her as they walked. "Why did you want me--"

Allura held up one hand, and he quieted. "Speak only when you're spoken to," she said. "Answer immediately. Be brief. Do not presume to socialize with the Emperor or any of his peers."

He seemed to get the hint, and he fell silent as he walked a few steps behind her. 

"No," said Allura, pausing to let him catch up. "When we are alone together, you are to walk alongside me. Do not fall behind unless I'm with the Emperor. Keep your hands free. Do not offer me or anyone else your arm, even if they are unescorted."

Now the boy quickened his step. "Like this?" he asked.

Allura gave him a stern look. She had no desire to shame the boy, but he had a lot of socializing to catch up on, and it wouldn't do if he angered the wrong person and got himself killed. Not only would she feel responsible, but he would be replaced with a far less pliable Galra soldier. Out of necessity, the basics would have to be harsh, and the boy bit down on his lip and turned his head away.

"Do you know how to use that sword?" Allura asked, gesturing to it.

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"My father taught me."

"Your father was Galra?"

"Yes."

"Explain to me why he wasted his time." Allura waited to see if he would snap at her in anger, and she felt the boy's auras wax, shame and fury both, but he held the outburst in. She was impressed, but she didn't allow it to show.

"He was fond of my mother, he let her keep me. We lived with him. He taught me, sometimes."

"What was his name?"

"Sharn," he said.

"Speak of Galra officers by title or not at all."

"His name is High-General Sharn."

"Why are you here, and not with High-General Sharn?"

"He didn't want me after my mother died. He gave me to Atraxus."

They had come to the door of Zarkon's apartments, and Allura paused as they hissed open. She stepped inside, but the boy hesitated at the threshold, and Allura turned to him. "You live here now, there is no need to hesitate."

Tentatively, he stepped inside, looking around at everything, though there was little to see. Zarkon's apartments were spacious, true, but not as lavish as one might expect from the ruler of the known galaxy. He had been born a warrior, and Allura knew the tyrant would die as one. Zarkon lived frugally, and most of the comforts here had been set up for her. 

"Do you have a name?" Allura asked. "Something I should call you?"

"No."

"Your father didn't name you?" She sat down at Zarkon's desk and retrieved a datapad and a stylus. Her bodyguard was going to need a great many things, but a proper uniform was near the top of the list. The sword was to big for him to properly wear at his hip, so he'd need a strap to wear it across his back. Allura wouldn't trouble Zarkon with any more demands, there was no need to draw his attention to them, but she thought perhaps she could get the guards to comply. 

"No."

Allura looked up from her writing. "What about your mother?"

"My mother?"

Allura held up one hand, again. " _Never_ answer questions with questions."

Now he fell silent, pursing his lips.

"Did you mother name you?" Allura tapped the stylus on the edge of the datapad and suspected she already knew the answer. "Not a Galra name, but something from her world? Something that had meaning to her?"

He hesitated, and a long moment stretched out between them before he nodded. "Yes."

"Then tell me your name," Allura said, "so I have something to call you."

"I... it's Keith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith's backstory is one of the big places that Apart diverges from canon, since everything he's telling Allura here is true (but brief).
> 
> I'm... not entirely sure I'm happy with this chapter, though I knew wanted to have half-Galra Keith before Season 2 came out. I don't know if I've written it to quickly or what it is that's irking me about it. And I'll note that there's a specific reason she noticed him and picked him out, though it may not be obvious just yet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god shiro and allura are going to meet at some point

Allura had wanted more time with her new bodyguard, but Zarkon returned, and she ordered him out of the room. 

There were no other beds, but he would just have to find somewhere in the apartments to make himself comfortable. She reasoned that the floor was likely better than the slave quarters or Atraxus' bed, but perhaps she could have some space made for him. She would have to wait, however, until Zarkon was in a better mood. And when Tsotago came in the morning, Allura would ask her if she could bring another blanket.

She felt the Emperor's eyes on her, and his gaze was as heavy as ever as he removed his armor. There was no point in waiting to be ordered, and Allura undid the bindings of her dress, letting it fall from her shoulders. As it pooled at her feet, she stepped out of it and walked towards the bed. Carefully, she manipulated her own quintessence, making adjustments to be sure her body would not be damaged when she took him inside it.

"Do you like him?" Zarkon asked, watching her, predatory.

"He'll suffice," Allura answered, not wanting to draw Zarkon's attention to the boy with either praise or condemnation.

The Emperor followed her to the bed, discarding the clothing he wore beneath his armor. "Do you want one?"

"Another bodyguard?" Allura blinked, and reclined on the bed, reaching up to stroke Zarkon's chest. She was getting talented at pretending, and to distract herself, she watched the contrast her dark skin made on his pale purple fur as she touched him. Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to touch a lover out of desire, but Allura knew it would never happen. Even if she escaped, no one would want her, knowing how Zarkon had defiled her. "That would be generous, but not necessary."

"I meant a child." Zarkon chuckled, leaning down over her. "You seem so interested in the little half-breed. Don't you want one of your own?"

The answer, she supposed, was 'yes'. Before the war, Allura had been under no delusions about her future. She was a princess, and princesses became queens, and a queen married and had children. During Altea's Golden Age, she had had no lovers, but Allura had suffered no shortage of suitors. There were even several that Alfor, her father, had considered seriously enough to discuss with her. They were men and women who represented powerful alliances or who had important diplomatic connections, and while royalty did not marry for love, she had always hoped that she and her partner might form as strong a bond as her own parents had.

...but the thought of having a child here was horrifying. It would be bad enough to have the child dragged from her arms and mutilated to serve the pleasures of Zarkon's officers, but even that would not be what happened. 

No. The druids would take it, and whatever was done would be a thousand times worse.

She shuddered under Zarkon's hands as they roamed over her flesh. "It does not matter what I wish, Zarkon. It cannot happen."

"Open your legs," he ordered. "Offer yourself up to your Emperor."

Allura tangled her hands into the sheets and obeyed. There was no point in delaying the act, and this would serve get it over with faster. She felt the tip of Zarkon's cock press up against her, seeking entrance, and she evened her breathing.

"Do you think I'm ignorant?" he asked, his mouth against her ear. "I know my seed can't take root inside of you."

Allura squirmed, under the weight of his body and auras both. It was suffocating. "Then why did you ask?"

Zarkon circled his hips slowly, pressing against her without thrusting in, dragging himself back and forth over the cleft between her legs, smearing himself with her wetness. He was purring, and he leaned down, rubbing his lips against her neck. "Perhaps I should have said, 'I know my seed can't take root inside of you _now_ '."

"What..." Allura hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"I have no desire to risk damaging my prize. I know your life is linked to Voltron's somehow." His hips rocked, idly, threatening her with penetration. "But once I have all the Lions, I can have the druids change you. They will open your womb to me, after there is no fear for damaging my weapon."

Horror seized Allura and twisted her insides, and all thoughts of charming Zarkon, of tricking him into keeping her close, fled her mind. It felt as though there were bugs crawling on her skin. She clawed at the blankets, trying to close her legs, but his knees were between them. Beneath him, she struggled, trying to throw him off. 

"Now, now, Princess," Zarkon said, and his voice was rich with dark amusement. "You don't want to--"

Something inside her snapped, and Allura closed one hand into a fist and punched him.

Zarkon hadn't been expecting it, and it caught him completely off guard. Allura's fist struck him on the cheek and though their difference in weight was considerable, she felt her quintessence surge, rising to the guide the attack. Alteans were far stronger than they looked, and channelers even more so. She heard a bone crack under her clenched fist and wished the sound hadn't pleased her. 

The attack unbalanced the tyrant, and Allura threw him to one side. She scrambled up, but Zarkon had already recovered and he grabbed at her, his claws raking flesh as they grappled. A roar of fury escaped from him as she punched him again, this time in the ribs, though Galra ribs were too solid to break under a single blow - even from someone as strong as she was. Twisting in his grip, Allura put her hands around the warlord's throat and _squeezed_. It did nothing to save her, her hands didn't fit all the way around, and stars exploded across her vision as Zarkon's heavy fist hit her in the stomach. 

It knocked the wind out of her, and a second blow caught her across the face, sending her sprawling across the sheets, stunned and barely able to breathe.

Zarkon rose from the bed, and Allura tried to get her breath, to get back up and fight, but her body wouldn't seem to obey. Her thoughts swam, and shakily, she drew her legs closed.

She was still helpless when Zarkon came back to the bed and seized her, wielding her onto her stomach and twisting her arms behind her back. He had something in his hands, and Allura realized now that it was the sash from her dress. The Galra put one knee on her back, to hold her down as he tied her arms so tightly it was painful, and Allura moaned in protest.

A fist closed around her hair and Allura cried out as Zarkon pulled her onto her knees and then back against him. It didn't seem possible, but it felt as though he were even more aroused, and his cock pressed into the small of her back. 

"You belong to me," he said, his voice a low, dark growl. "Every part of you is mine to use, even your Lions."

There was no opportunity to respond, because the tyrant threw her down against the sheets and then he took her. 

Allura had thought she had seen the worst of Zarkon's violence, but she has been wrong. He fell on her with no pretense of gentleness, as though he was an animal in heat. His claws cut into the flesh of her hips as she tried to struggle free and he pulled her back against him. Even with her preparations, each thrust of his swelling cock felt as though he was going to tear her in two. Without warning, he jerked free and she felt his speed spill over her back, her bound arms. Carelessly, he grabbed her hip and rolled her onto her back, her arms pinned beneath her. 

He took her again like that, and Allura closed her eyes and turned her head, pressing it into the sheets. Zarkon's auras roiled, like a storm in the night, stripping hers bare, grinding down on her until she was unable to sense her own quintessence. She could hear objects in the room rattling, caught in the storm of power that was rising off of him, but the noise seemed to be coming from a great distance away, and then she couldn't hear it at all, nothing existed but Zarkon. He pulled free again and came across her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, and then she was being wielded onto her side and taken again.

How long it went on, Allura couldn't say. Her only guess would have been 'forever', and finally, mercifully, a cold darkness closed over her.

*** *** ***

"What's this? Are they letting animals be Voltron Paladins now?"

The man who had spoken was Altean, and his pale skin marked him as coming from a common bloodline, though he wore a military uniform. His jacket was undone, Allura noted, and if the Admiral saw it, he'd pitch a fit. She knew him, she recalled from across millennia. Taelis. The Captain of the Warship Exarch. Zarkon's fangs bared, and Allura saw his hand move towards the hilt of his sword. His auras waxed and she grabbed for his arm and leaned into him.

"Not you, Galra. I was talking to Keles." Taelis pointed to the Red Paladin, who was standing with them, then grinned at Zarkon. "Did you know that when Keles was born, he was so ugly the physician slapped his father?"

Zarkon blinked, lost for an answer, and Keles smirked, completely unfazed. "At least I know who my father _was_ , you flesh-eating son of a whore."

"About the quality of insult I'd expect from Altava's most notorious gay pirate," Taelis said, instantly.

"You know I hate it when people use _that word_ to describe me." With feigned aloofness, Keles took a sip of his drink. "When the Royal Navy does it, we call it 'privateering'."

Both of them burst out laughing, Zarkon stared.

They were at a party, and she was supposed to be socializing with the delegates from Porria, but they hadn't arrived at the estate hosting the event yet, and as Keles and Taelis argued and joked, she gazed out over the grounds. As beautiful as Shaeras-Elunore was during the day, it seemed to be even more beautiful at night, and the sight of its floating lanterns and lights captured in crystal made Allura's heart ache. Keles, the Red Paladin, stood to her left. He was Altean as well, though he was part of the Altava Sect, from the far Galactic East. The Altava had fled Altea long ago, and they worshiped the Gods out of order and forswore eating the flesh of animals. Keles liked Zarkon a great deal, and Allura supposed that she was not surprised. Before Zarkon, he had been the one everyone was suspicious of. 

Keles was nobility on his home planet, and like Allura, his skin was dark. He wore his full parade uniform, and as a Paladin, he was permitted to be armed, even here. The Red Paladin was a tall man, but even so, Zarkon was more than a foot taller than he was. The Galra warleader looked immensely uncomfortable and out of place, even more so than he had in the gardens. There was no Altean clothing that could have fit him, even if he would have agreed to wear it.

When Keles and Taelis extracted themselves, still trading barbs, Zarkon leaned down over her. "Why does Keles permit this?" he asked, quietly.

Allura smiled. "They're old friends, and they probably feel that there's no need for formality between them."

"Your father's friends address him formally," Zarkon said, after a moment of considering. 

"My father is the King, Zarkon. He is in the public eye at all times," Allura explained. In response, the Galra made a noise of annoyance and she touched his arm again. Allura let her auras brush against his, reassuring, and felt his surge in response. "You'll get used to all of this, I promise. It just takes time."

"We're at _war_ , it's foolish to waste time on social--"

There was a commotion at the front of the room and Allura looked towards it. Immediately, she picked out the narrow, masked figures of the Porrians, and she released Zarkon's arm with some reluctance. "I must go and meet with them." She smiled up at him. "Don't get into trouble. Perhaps you could find Letaan."

"That seems to be all I'm good for," he said as she turned away.

Lifting her skirts, Allura left him and hurried towards the stairs, the crowd parting for her, heads lowering as she passed.

*** *** ***

Allura was not in Zarkon's bed when she woke. 

She was laying naked on a cold stone bench, and it took her a moment to identify it as one of the benches from the bathing area. No, it was two of them, pushed together. A thin cloth covered her and she was clean. Someone must have washed her off.

Someone touched her shoulder and feeling claws, Allura cried out.

"Do not move," she Tsotago. "You must lie still."

Allura closed her eyes, listening to the scrape of tools and the movement of bodies. Of the rustle of cloth and Tsotago speaking quietly to the other two women. There was a dull ache pulsing through her body, but it seemed distant, bearable. She suspected that the old woman had given her some kind of drug for the pain.

Wordlessly, she cursed herself. What had she been thinking? Where had she seen herself after throwing that punch? How would she reach the Lions if Zarkon locked her up somewhere, or worse, if he gave her to his witch? She turned her head, to watch Tsotago. The woman's face was grave, and her expression was dire as she stitched up one of the slashes on Allura's shoulder, her heavy fingers capable of being surprisingly delicate. Solu knelt on the other side of benches, bandaging cuts that Tsotago had finished with or that were less severe. Belyo sat off on her own, arranging items for Tsotago to use.

"I punched Zarkon," Allura admitted, her voice hoarse and shaky. Her right eye was swollen shut.

"Good." Tsotago snorted. "It was deserved. Do you feel good?"

"No."

"Then do not raise your hand again. Not until the time comes. Think of us. Think of your Lions." She gestured with her head. "The boy came to me. He heard you cry out."

Allura's followed the gesture with her good eye to the line of Keith's form. He stood across the room, facing away from her, his arms folded across his chest. The sword that elevated him above slavery lay next to him, resting across a table. Keith had probably moved the benches too. Galra were stronger than they looked, even runts. Allura started to sit up, and Tsotago touched her shoulder. 

"Be still," she said. "Focus on healing. You were torn."

Allura covered her mouth, pulling her arm away from Solu as she choked back a sob. Solu looked down, folding her hands into her lap. Tsotago kept working, dabbing something onto a line of stitches before winding a bandage around it. 

"You are doing well," she said, and she stroked Allura's forehead. "I am finished. The boy will watch. Lay here until you can stand. I will return later."

Tsotago gathered her things and stood, Belyo and Solu following her. When they left, Keith retrieved his sword and crossed the room to her, sitting down with his back to the bench. Close enough to touch, and she couldn't help but to wonder if he had done the same thing for his mother. Without speaking, he crossed his legs and laid the sword across them. For a very long, the silence held, and Allura drifted in and out of consciousness. She dreamed fitfully. Of Altea. Of her father. Of the bridge of a starship. Of the way Keles had looked when the black bayard had cut his throat.

"Are you awake?" Keith asked, after a time.

"I think so," Allura said, wondering how many hours it had been. That she could tell, he hadn't moved.

He drummed his fingers on the scabbard of his sword. "Are you trying to kill Zarkon?"

 _Yes_ , thought Allura, but what she said was, "What makes you say that?"

"Because no one _really_ wants me for anything. I'm worthless, except to be used." He glanced back at her. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Allura wasn't entirely sure she had an answer. "Keith--"

"How did you think you were going to get me to help you?"

Allura wondered if perhaps honesty was the best policy. Keith already thought he knew everything, and a little bit of knowledge was more dangerous than none. Allura sighed heavily. "I hoped that it would not, but if it... came to that, I was going to threaten you."

"With _what_?!" She felt his auras wax, and he whirled around and stood, his claws scraping on the floor. He gestured to himself. "Do you think I'm afraid to die? Do you think I've never been raped?"

"I saw you do a magic trick yesterday," Allura said, and again, it was like someone was squeezing her heart. She had only been here a few weeks, but he had been at the mercy of the Galra for his entire life. It felt worse than misery. "That was why I wanted you. That and I believe we are close to the same size. I could wear your clothes."

"Magic? What the hell are you talking about!?"

"When I came to the door yesterday." Allura paused, talking was making her head swim, and she wished her body with expel the drug already. Taking a deep breath, she reached for her quintessence, almost surprised to find it still present. Zarkon hadn't burned it away, and she focused on it, to heal herself. "You pulled your auras away, so that I couldn't read them."

Keith grimaced. "...but that, it isn't _magic_."

"It is. Aura manipulation is the first thing a new channeler learns, but to have figured it out on your own is very impressive. And they--" She looked up at him, and now the anger on his face had given way to wary fear. "--they take the Galra channelers away, don't they? The druids do something to them. They would take you too, if they knew."

He froze, clutching at the sword.

"You do not have to believe me when I tell you this," Allura said, "but I didn't want that. I wanted to teach you, and to take you with me when I left this place. I would not give anyone over to them, not even a Galra."

"It won't work, what you're planning."

"How do you know?"

"My mother tried to escape too, and Zarkon's more dangerous than my father." He looked away. "I--"

"Keith," said Allura, propping herself up on one elbow and wincing. "Come closer. Kneel down."

He took an awkward, shuffling step forward and knelt at the edge of the bench, and Allura reached out to touch him. He folded his ears down, but he didn't pull away. The boy had soft hair that was starting to get long, and it wasn't coarse in the way Galra fur sometimes was. She put one hand on the back of his head, and leaned forward, to touch their foreheads together. 

"I should not have brought you into this," she said. "The situation is... desperate, but you are a child. Forgive me."

Keith's hands held the edge of the bench, instead of touching her. He dared to look hopeful, but it was a fragile thing. "Am I really special? Do I really have magic?"

"Yes," said Allura, "and yes."

"...and you can teach me?"

"If you want to learn."

Keith reached up and gripped her arms, and Allura winced as his claws brushed one of the cuts. He was terrible at hugging. 

"I'll do better," he promised. "I'll be stronger this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd make a quick note that Keith is around 18 - 19 in this AU, though he doesn't know his birthday or his exact age, since there's a lot of calling him a 'child' or 'a boy'.
> 
> Shiro is the same age he is in V:LD, which I believe is 25. Allura is a bit different, since Alteans live a very long time, but as far as her race is concerned, she's in the equivalent of her early/mid twenties. 
> 
> Thace is in his late thirties, and Coran is the Altean equivalent of his mid-fifties - not old, but getting there. Prorok is over sixty-five, and probably closing in on seventy.
> 
> Ulas isn't going to be in this fic, I think, but if he were, he'd be in his late twenties.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank the wonderful StuffnStuff for helping me beta this (and I assume future chapters). 
> 
> Hopefully this means you'll have to deal with a lot less of my sometimes terrible grammar.

Keith held up the dress and Allura shook her head, frowning. "No, not that one."

He set it to one side and picked up the next one, holding it out awkwardly. Allura had no wish to criticize him, since he was trying his best, but she wished Solu would have returned more quickly. Previously the silent woman had selected all her clothing, and Solu had an expert's eye for what fabric and cuts would look best on the captive princess.

Allura sat on the bed, where Keith had set her down. Tsotago had warned her not to move, but her bodyguard had told her that Zarkon expected her at the games, and she had no intention of missing out on an opportunity to speak with the Champion, however unlikely or brief. She had promised him she would be watching, and she would not allow Zarkon to stop her.

"Are you trying to look good for Zarkon?" Keith asked, setting the dress onto the pile when he saw the look on Allura's face. He reached for the next one.

"No," said Allura. "I doubt he cares how I dress. He would probably prefer it I wore nothing."

"Then why dress up?"

"We're going to see a performance," Allura said, authoritative. "Dressing formally shows respect for the performers."

"Really?" Keith raised an eyebrow. "The gladiators? You think they care?"

"I admit it's not the High Altean Opera," Allura said, "but there's still no excuse for poor manners, and I dress for myself, not for the Emperor."

"Oh." Keith nodded to her, his expression was incredibly serious, full of deep concentration. "Is this part of my sorcery lessons?"

Allura almost laughed, and if not for the ruinous night before, she might have. "No," she said, "but it won't hurt you to know it."

Keith held a dress out to her and she shook her head. Without comment, it joined the reject pile.

"I do have to wonder where Zarkon got all of these," Allura said, glancing at the pile of fabrics. "It wasn't as if he expected to locate me."

"He probably just asked someone for them," Keith said, nonchalant. "A lot of the luxury goods you see come from the tributaries, since Galra don't really make them." Catching her watching him, Keith shrugged. "I listen to the officers talking, sometimes."

"That's a good thing, Keith. It's resourceful and smart." Allura flexed her legs, testing the range of motion. Her focus had recovered, and she directed her quintessence towards healing, but even so, she wasn't entirely sure she would be able to walk when the time came.

"Is that magic too?"

"Keith, we really must establish some ground rules for your training," Allura said, "and the first is that you need to stop asking if everything is magic."

"I--" He frowned. "Alright."

He pretend to sort the clothes in the closet for thirty seconds or so before he stopped moving them back and forth and turned to her. "I have another question."

Allura sighed. "Is it about magic?"

"No," Keith said. Then paused, glancing left and right. "Yes...?"

Allura gave him a look.

"It's the last question, I promise. Did you teach Zarkon too?" Keith's gold eyes searched her, probing. "I mean, you must have known each other, all those years ago."

"I did not teach Zarkon," she said, "but his first real tutor was an Altean. Her name was Patala, and they were extremely close."

"Were they lovers?"

"I doubt it," Allura said. "Patala was very old when they first met, and that I know of, she had no lovers when she was younger either. They were friends."

"Zarkon had Altean friends?"

"He was close with several Alteans, yes." Allura wasn't certain how much further she wanted to carry this thread of conversation. It made her heart feel heavy. She wondered what had become of Patala. Had Zarkon killed her? She couldn't even dare to ask, any mention of her would surely enrage him.

"So then, magic isn't different?" Keith changed the subject, as though he could sense her discomfort. He gestured with one hand. "Between Alteans and Galra? We're the same?"

"Quintessence is different between everyone, and the gift comes differently to each individual. All Alteans have magic, but some more than others." She thought of Coran, who had barely any to speak of, and that hurt too. "Not everyone is a navigator, for example."

"Is that what you do?" Keith asked. "You navigate?"

"Yes," said Allura. She rested her weight on her feet and tried to stand, then winced. "Space, and the ways in which it can be folded or bridged, velocity and stellar travel, they're all specialties of mine."

He looked impressed. "You're strong enough to move a whole spaceship?"

"With certain support systems in place, yes."

Keith gestured to himself. "Am I a navigator too?"

"I doubt it," Allura said, then went on when she saw his expression fall. "It has nothing to do with you, Keith. There are simply no Galra navigators."

"I... guess that's true," he said. "The druids move the Fleet. Do you think I could be a great warrior instead?"

Allura smiled and hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt. In truth, talking helped a great deal, though she still felt as though she trapped under a curtain of misery. "Yes," she said, "and I shall try not to ruin your chance at it by disappointing Zarkon tonight, though I'm worried I won't be able to walk."

Keith shrugged. "I could just carry you around, you're not that heavy."

"It would be beyond inappropriate," Allura said, "but I do appreciate the thought."

"I guess... I don't understand? You can move a spaceship, but not your body?"

"It's not the same thing at all. I mean, perhaps I could, if there was somewhere to displace the mass to."

"Okay, but--" Keith pointed to himself with one hand. "Like the support system for a ship, right? Can't you displace a person onto another person?"

Allura tilted her head. "Keith. Are you actually offering assistance, or are you trying to get me to perform a magic trick?"

"If I say 'yes', are you going to be mad?"

"I'm not going to be mad," Allura said. If anything, she was grateful to have someone to talk to. "Though I can't help but feel you're going to be disappointed. Magic isn't always flashy or spectacular, like it is in a fantasy paperback or a visual novel."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Do you, uh, like to read those kinds of books?"

"Keith! That's entirely besides the point." They had mostly belonged to Coran and her father anyways. Mostly. Allura rested her hands on her knees and sighed. "There is more to it than just transferring mass. We would have to mix auras."

"...and is that inappropriate too?" He crossed his arms.

"No," Allura said. "Though I suppose it _could_ be. Lovers mix auras sometimes, but it's quite a bit more like holding hands. Although it's essential for joint forms of sorcery, there is always some emotional bleed, and I have no desire to harm you spiritually, or to make you miserable."

He stared at her. " _That's_ what you're worried about?"

"You're making it sound foolish."

"It's kinda dumb, yeah." Keith shrugged. "If it was going to hurt you, or you didn't want to, that would be different, but--"

"You're very inexperienced," Allura said.

"Not at being miserable."

She supposed that was true, and Allura gathered her quintessence and extended her auras as she thought of the Black Lion. Each of the Voltron Lions was immense, though a great deal of their internal sub-structure was taken up by mechanical and transformation systems. They were not meant to carry passengers, though there was some space for light cargo and supplies.

Keith could not be left behind, but then again, neither could Tsotago, Belyo, or Solu. To throw one of the women who had aided and protected her onto Zarkon's mercy, or to leave a child in the hands of his abusers was unconscionable. If the Champion could be convinced to aid them, that made six, assuming he had no allies of his own.

The conspiracy had grown too large, Allura feared.

The Black Lion was a sky spirit, and it needed no chemical fuels to function. Unlike the other Lions, who had to occasionally retreat into their elements to replenish their quintessence, there was no such restriction on the decisive head of Voltron. It could gather power while in flight, skimming quintessence out of space with its wings, the way a weaver might spin threads from wool. The feat allowed it to remain in motion indefinitely.

However impressive the sorcerous engineering behind it was, that didn't give the Black Lion the ability to carry enough supplies to support six people in any long-term scenario. Someone would have to remain behind. The loss of even _one_ passenger would greatly prolong the survival of any others.

...and that lost passenger would have to be her.

With Zarkon deprived of the Black Lion, and its pilot free to seek out the others, there would be no compelling reason for Allura to remain alive. The Emperor would still possess the Red Lion, but if he had not found its pilot in ten thousand years, Allura doubted the Red Paladin was anywhere nearby. Even without the ability to form Voltron, the Black, Yellow, Blue, and Green Lions were a formidable force, perhaps enough to change the course of the Galra's war of conquest.

She could heal herself as best she could and try to kill Zarkon, or if such a prospect seemed unlikely, she would sever her own quintessence and end her life. The druids could not get information out of her if she--

"Don't."

Allura looked up. Keith had come over, and he stood by her, close enough to touch. She wondered when he had walked over, but realized her auras must have beckoned him to her when they had mixed with his. He felt warm. If he had been Altean, the astrologers would have said he had been born under a fire star. The Spear would have been her guess, but she doubted he knew his birthdate.

"Just don't," he said. "I know that look."

"You don't understand--"

He held out his right hand and wiggled the fingers. "I understand you need _this_ to open the hangar door, it's the only part me that matters, right? That's why you wanted me?"

"Keith." Allura raised her chin. "You are as terrible at reading auras as you are at hugging. That's not it at all. There is more at stake here than you know."

"Well _you're_ terrible at scheming, because if you're just going to kill yourself, everything you came up with is useless and we need to think up a better plan." He crossed his arms, glaring down at her. The emotional bleed from his side was practically non-existent. Keith was pulled so deeply inside of himself that he carried nothing into the bond. If she hadn't been able to see his face and body language, Allura would not have been able to read him at all.

She would have argued her point, but at that moment, Tsotago returned.

*** *** ***

"Such a tiny Galra," Belyo said, "and so cute."

"Leave him, Belyo." Tsotago snorted. "A Galra, nothing but trouble."

Allura stood in the center of the room, allowing the three women to help her dress, and she smiled faintly as she caught Keith flush and look away. For the better part of last hour, they had been practicing walking. He had accepted the transfer of virtually her entire body mass, and Allura felt like she was gliding, though she worried he was only trying to be strong for her sake. It was difficult to tell with someone whose auras she couldn't read.

She wore one of the dresses she had previously discarded. When the maids had arrived, Solu had gone straight to the pile and picked out a garment that Allura would have feared being caught dead in. The silent woman had made a handful of quick adjustments, and now Allura could only marvel at how the fabric of the dress fell perfectly and the way complimented her form. Solu had a gift.

"Hey," Keith said to Solu, he was apparently finished being mortified. "You're the Champion's woman, aren't you?"

Solu stared at him, unspeaking.

"Okay, uh," Keith tilted his head, his ears flicking. He gestured to himself. "Do you think we look alike?"

Belyo and Tsotago burst out laughing, and even Solu looked amused. Allura sighed.

"What!?" Keith looked between them. "What is it?"

"Champion don't want a woman," Tsotago said. Her laugh was deep, thick and throaty. "Don't think he wants a boy either. Good eye, though."

"I like the Galra boy just fine," Belyo said, giggling like a silver bell, "but he's not as pretty as Solu!"

"Not me and Solu!" Keith flushed, a dark purple cast shading his skin. "Me and the _Champion_ look alike! How could you possibly misinterpret that!?"

Tsotago and Belyo roared with laughter, though Solu remained as silent as always, shaking her head.

Allura, on the other hand, was curious, but there was no time to ask.

*** *** ***

When they had left the apartment to go to arena, Allura had feared facing Zarkon, though the fact that she had an escort soothed her somewhat. She reminded herself that any comfort she took from the presence of others was false, and quite possibly dangerous. None of Zarkon's followers would (or could) protect her from him, not even her bodyguard. As for Keith, he walked beside her, unspeaking. Exactly as instructed.

Elagem was there, Allura recognized him immediately, and he was no more tasteful in his manner of dress than he had been the previous day. 

General Prorok stood at Zarkon's side. He looked older than the Emperor, though compared to Alteans, all Galra led short lives. Most lived about a century, if war or accident did not claim them sooner. The method by which Zarkon had evaded both age and death for ten thousand years eluded Allura, but she suspected the witch’s dark magic.

Allura guessed that Prorok was in his fifth decade of life, and though he might live another forty or fifty years, there was already a younger Galra being groomed to replace him. This was his lieutenant, Thace. Thace was handsome, as Galra went, and Allura guessed he was in his late thirties. She knew little of him, save that previously, he had spoken little and kept his curious glances polite.

The look of surprise on Zarkon's face told her that he had not expected to see her, and Allura allowed it to buoy her spirits somewhat.

His own injuries had been treated, though it looked like he had not ordered the druids to heal them, because she could see the ugly bruising around his broken cheek. Keeping her expression carefully neutral, Allura took his hand and knelt, rising without waiting for the command to do so. Prorok, Thace, and Elagem stared at her, and Allura paid them no mind. Tsotago and Solu had done what they could, but her eye was still swollen closed and there were places under the thin fabric of the dress where the stitches showed.

She refused to be embarrassed. It wasn't as if they didn't know what Zarkon was doing to her, and worse, it wasn't as if any of them cared.

"Allura," Zarkon said, and his eyes followed her, as though he was trying to figure out how she had risen from his bed. "I... did not expect you."

"My Emperor," she answered, inclining her head, just barely. "Whyever not?" Allura kept her tone cool, daring him to answer in front of his subordinates.

Zarkon didn't. Instead, he introduced Elagem again, and at least this time the alien kept his gaze polite. "This is General Prorok," Zarkon said, as though Allura didn't already know, and Prorok nodded to her, but said nothing. Zarkon gestured to the younger Galra. "His first lieutenant, Thace."

Thace touched three fingers to his primary heart. "I'm a spy," he said.

Allura blinked. Prorok made a noise of annoyance. She saw Zarkon roll his eyes.

"You're always like this," Prorok said. "You can't stop talking about your job. It's why you can't find a woman."

"You have two wives," Thace returned, grinning, "and they both loathe you. I'm just fine doing without, thank you."

Prorok mumbled something guttural, and Allura guessed, rude.

"Are you really a spy?" she asked, feigning innocence. "A true agent provocateur?"

"Nothing so… spectacular as that." Thace smiled. "I'm a codebreaker, and I do historical data retrieval. Ever since Sendak located the Castle of Lions, I've been hoping we could speak."

"I suppose you think I would be a good source of historical data," Allura said.

"Something like that," Thace said. "Up until now, it's been the Lord Emperor who's had to endure all my questioning and research."

Zarkon snorted, as though the matter was unimportant, but it was clear enough from his auras that he loved the attention. Being considered an authority on historical fact probably did wonders for his ego. Up until now, he had been free to make up anything he wanted, and Allura wondered how Thace might handle hearing something that contradicted Zarkon's previous dialogues.

"May I?" Thace asked.

"I suppose," Zarkon said, turning to Allura. "Entertain Thace. I need to speak with Elagem anyways."

He turned to the Amatrudian, and the two walked away together, towards the back of the box that overlooked the arena. Allura fumed at the implication and at the thought of being shared. Next to her, she saw Keith bristle, and reigned her emotions in, reminding herself that he was getting more than she had hoped. The last thing she wanted was for him to take a swing at Thace, or for that matter, Zarkon. It would change nothing, other than to get him killed. Allura thought of Tsotago, and the advice not to raise her hand again. Not until it was the right time.

Thace offered his arm, and with no other choice, Allura took it. He guided her over to a seat nearer to the balcony than Zarkon's and waited until she sat before he sat down himself. Keith immediately went to the edge and looked out over the area, trying to catch sight of the Champion, and using both hands to rest some of their combined weight on the railing. The fights hadn't started yet, so Allura doubted the view was exciting.

"I was hoping we could discuss Shaeras-Elunore," Thace said, without preamble.

"What--" Allura turned her gaze from Keith back to the Galra officer. "What about it, exactly?"

"I understand there was an assassination attempt?"

Allura sighed, and the weight of millenia suddenly felt heavier than it was. "Yes, there was."

"During a party?"

Allura nodded.

"...and you were the target?"

"No," she said. "I believe the... assassin's true intention was to lure Zarkon into the open and kill him. Perhaps Keles, the Red Paladin, as well."

"He says the assassin was in disguise as part of the Porrian ambassador's bodyguard cadre."

"That's... accurate." Allura didn't elaborate, and she wondered if Zarkon had told Thace the rest. How much of the whole truth the young lieutenant really knew. "After a fashion."

"One moment. Let me take care of something." Thace glanced up at Keith, who was still leaning over the balcony. His tone was sharp, but low. "Keith, what the hell are you doing?"

Keith jumped and flinched, as though he was expecting a blow, and whirled around to face Thace. He looked scared, like a startled animal. It wasn't a good or professional reaction from a bodyguard, and Allura suppressed a sigh. Thace rested his hand on her thigh, and now it was Allura's turn to flinch.

"Well?" Thace asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Keith said, he looked at Allura, as though for help, then back to Thace. "How do you know my name?"

"Don't respond to questions with questions," Thace said, but he went on to answer anyways. "I know the names of everyone who's allowed access to the upper levels of the officer's quarters. Don't watch the fight, watch the door. Stand closer to Allura. If you can't hold that sword without being off-balance, for the Empire's sake, rest it on the damn floor."

Keith looked immensely awkward, but he stepped away from the balcony and took a few steps closer.

"Better," said Thace. "The next time Allura goes anywhere with someone alone, check their ID."

"But you..." Keith trailed off under the weight of Thace's glare.

"But I _what_?" The Galra officer asked.

"You're an officer, and you aren't _alone_ , you're just on the other end of the balcony."

Thace raised an eyebrow. "What of it?"

"You outrank me. I can't--"

"What makes you think that?" Thace asked.

Keith stared at him, lost for words.

"You work for the Emperor," said Thace. "I work for Prorok."

It was true, Allura realized. Zarkon had elevated the boy, but he hadn't seen fit to put him under the command of another officer. It was a technicality, but Keith did indeed have a position of somewhat notable honor. He worked directly for the Emperor, though Allura doubted it would hold up to any official scrutiny, accurate or not. Interesting too, that Thace and Prorok seemed to be on a first-name basis with each other.

"Fleet Commander Prorok and the Emperor didn't say--"

Thace cut him off, his tone sharp. "Prorok and his Imperial Majesty think this is a joke. They would never tolerate this sort of incompetence from a true Galra officer."

"Then why are you--"

"There are Galra who work their entire lives for what you were handed yesterday." Thace leaned forward and gestured to Prorok, who sat some distance away, socializing with Zarkon and Elagem on the other end of the balcony. "Forgive me for not wanting to sit here and watch you cock it up."

Allura did not correct Thace, he was right. She would have liked to defend Keith, but sooner or later, Prorok would die (or his second would find some way to help him along, in one of the ways that Galra occasionally did), and then Keith would have to deal with Thace every day. Something told her that Thace would not consider the _kyr_ beneath notice, and if Keith couldn’t figure out how handle the officer now, his future wasn’t bright. 

Keith seemed to be weighing his options. "Show me your ID scan," he said, at last.

"Good boy." Thace held out his hand, showing Keith a readout that came up on the inside of his bracer. "Anything else?"

Her bodyguard's eyes narrowed and fell to where Thace's hand rested on Allura's leg. "Get your hand off Allura or I'll fucking cut it off."

Thace's hand vanished instantly, withdrawn into his lap, and he reached for his drink with the other. "Much better," he said. "Oh, and don't hold your ears like that, boy. Submission looks bad on you."

Keith drew his shoulders up and nodded a little, turning to face the balcony door.

"Now," said Thace, "we were talking about Shaeras-Elunore."


End file.
